


Rising: The Zombiepocalypse Pilot

by alex_kade



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Steampunk, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this entirely new M7 universe (which I and my beta readers have come to call "ZP" for short), the boys are thrown into a post-apocalyptic world in which they'll encounter zombies, raiders, crazy technology, nomadic communities, and lots of insane adventures! You've never seen our boys quite like this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ZP Pilot Ch.1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who was at the second year's M7 Con convention in Los Angeles heard me mention creating a whole new universe for our boys. I've been working on this for a few years now, well before the whole Walking Dead craze came about, but I figured with the zombie obsession still at its peak, now would be as good a time as ever to introduce my new world.
> 
> Yep, that's right. The boys vs zombies in a post-apocalyptic world! Fair warning, the guys are going to be just a tad OOC for this one in comparison to other universes. They're fighting zombies in a world where most of humanity has perished. I had to make some tweaks to their characterizations to ensure their survival, lol.
> 
> That being said, I highly encourage anyone who wants to play in my sandbox to just go right on ahead, but maybe wait until I've finished this premiere story to do so. I'm revealing their personalities and back stories as I go along, so you might want to make certain you have all the details in order, first, before you run off with my new toys. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_Two years from now, The Higher Hopes Foundation - a medical research facility in Shreveport, Louisiana - will create the prototype for a vaccine that is designed to rid the world of the HIV virus. Upon testing, it is discovered that the vaccine may also contain some regenerative properties that, if successfully enhanced, will allow the human body to essentially heal its own damage to a limited extent._

_Four years from now, with the vaccine still in its experimental phases, The Rising Corporation in Denver, Colorado (rival to The Higher Hopes Foundation), will hire a team of the world's most successful practitioners in the craft of theft to steal the vaccine and all the research that goes with it. The operation is a success and Rising immediately begins extensive experimentation, much of which falls outside the bounds of legal practice. Lab technicians test various new forms of the vaccine on rats, horses, pigs, birds, fish, monkeys, human volunteers, and even on the corpses of John and Jane Doe's who lay unclaimed in the local morgues._

_Five years from now, the results of Rising's carelessness bring about a swarm of human bodies, neither alive nor dead, wandering the streets and feasting on any living being they can touch. Once bitten by these living corpses, the victim falls prey to the vaccine-turned-virus, joining into the ranks of the Diseased mere hours after infected saliva mixes with living, flowing blood. All attempts to stop the rapidly growing numbers of the putrid masses are in vain, felling entire armies, then entire nations. The living are left to roam the Earth in small numbers, constantly on the run from both the Undead and from each other. Laws no longer exist, crime runs rampant, there is no trust amongst those who survive together in wandering communities, and fear becomes the one and only constant._

_But, there are those rare survivors who still hold out hope for humanity. They haven't given up on the world just yet, and will risk everything to fight for the lives they used to have. Somewhere out there, there exists a cure for the virus man created, and it becomes the sole mission for the brave few left with their souls still intact to find it. These men and women, these heroes, are the last spark of salvation for mankind, and they will stop at nothing save death itself, to put the planet back in order._

_This is their story..._

* * *

The sun rested high in the sky over the abandoned city of Shreveport, shedding light on the skeletons of sky scrapers, gas stations, vehicles, and the remains of the "lucky" victims who escaped life without rising again as a monster. In one of the hollowed-out shells of an office building, a man dressed all in black slinked his way through the shadows, staying just out of reach of the sunlight filtering through the broken-out windows. He kept all his senses on full alert, listening for even the slightest noise that might hint of danger while also trying not to make any noise of his own. Slowly, carefully, he made his way to the rooftop, keeping himself down low and crawling over to the walled edge of the building, binoculars in hand. He didn't bother to peer down at the street – he already knew what sight awaited him down there. There would only be a few of the grotesque Plagued shuffling about from building to building, aimlessly searching to satisfy a hunger that never seemed to diminish. He also knew, though, that a few could all-too-quickly become too many. If they were to discover his position it would only be a matter of minutes before an entire horde of them would come seeking him out. That in mind, he scooted further back away from the ledge, making certain he would remain out of sight.

Focusing his binoculars, he scanned the windows of the building across the street, set back in its own large yard behind a cast-iron fence. He remembered the yard was once a luscious green with carefully shaped hedges and flowers blooming every season that spelled out the words "Higher Hopes Foundation" on the grounds. It had looked a little out of place in the middle of the traffic-heavy, smog-filled city, but it had offered a splash of color in an otherwise grey world. Now the grass was long dead, the hedges were overgrown and unruly, and unchecked weeds had devoured any signs that flowers had ever existed. As with everywhere else in the city, the grounds were covered with garbage strewn about, shuffled around only by the soft winds that occasionally flowed through the streets. The building, once bustling with the drone of the working force, was now devoid of life.

Or at least it  _should_ have been.

Movement in the window on the top floor, farthest to the right of the building, caught the eye of the man on the rooftop. He followed the subject closely, looking for the telltale signs of the walking Infected – sharp, jerky movements, an ambling walk, and seemingly aimless direction. Instead, he saw the fluid motions of a person easily shifting through whatever activity they were engrossed in. They moved from one window across the room to the next - speedy, calculated, seemingly mindless of the destruction and death that waited just outside. It seemed like the human was just another worker bee going abut a daily routine, which brought a sad sense of nostalgia to the man who observed.

The figure moved closer to the window and briefly peered out at the grounds below, revealing himself to be a man of dark skin, donning an actual lab coat and holding two vials in his hands filled with different-colored liquids.

 _Bingo_ , the man in black thought with a smirk. His sources had been correct. This man in the window  _had_  to be the one he'd been looking for, the one who could be the only person capable of creating an antidote for the poison that had spread like wildfire over the Earth. This man had to be kept alive at all costs.

Movement just at the corner of his vision from the rooftop adjacent to his quickly caught his attention. He turned to see yet another man standing there, waving his arms at him and pointing at the ground. On his guard, but curious, he looked down at the edge of the fenced yard and saw one of the Diseased standing still, its head cocked up towards what used to be the research facility, towards the man who worked within.

It had seen him.

The thing let out a low moan and others of its kind stopped their mindless activities, searching for the source of the change in atmosphere. Their hunger was fierce and the scent of prey was in the air. They shuffled forward, moving to convene at the fence line, their groans and newly-focused sense of direction catching the attention of yet more of their Undead and Diseased brethren.

The man in black turned back towards the man that had warned him of the impending attack. This second man, younger than he was with long, blond hair tied back out of his face, and sporting a simple brown leather jacket, nodded at him and held up a well cared for, long-range, high-powered sniper rifle. The black clad man nodded back, and pulled out his own pistol - an Army issue, M9 Beretta - as he swiftly made his way back across the roof and down the stairwell.

He exited the building carefully, mindful of any of the Plagued that might cross his path. They were on the hunt now, and apt to be more aggressive than usual. He couldn't afford to get caught by them, not when he was finally so close to his objective.

He rounded the corner and cursed when he realized he would have to make a dash out in the open if he wanted to reach the fence. He weighed the risks, hoping the mindless wretches were too busy trying to solve the dilemma of getting through the iron obstacle in front of them to notice his own entrance into the compound. He hesitated just a little too long and one of them turned in his direction, locking onto his position. It began to move towards him, but didn't get so much as one step before its head exploded in a shower of blood, brain, and skull. It dropped to the ground without the others even noticing its violent demise.

 _Wonder how many bullets he has,_ the man briefly wondered, sending a mental thanks to the blond man on the roof who was apparently guarding his back.

Taking just another moment to steel himself, he shot out of the cover of the building with impressive speed. He didn't bother to turn as he heard the sound of more of the Undead meeting their demise at the hands of the mystery sniper. Instead, he focused on the dumpster in front of him, leaped up onto it, cleared the fence, and sprinted for the building as soon as his feet touched the ground. He didn't have to look to know that some of the Diseased had caught on to his method of entry and were now following suit, clambering over the fence in their clumsy, determined manner. More of them fell to the rifle, but he knew there would be more ready to take their place. He pushed himself to run faster.

Throwing himself into the doorway, he slammed it shut behind him and took only a moment to barricade it with the few pieces of broken furniture he could find in the near vicinity. It wouldn't stop them, but it would stall them for the time he needed to get the doctor out safely. Turning, he found the nearest stairwell and took the steps three at a time until he reached the top floor, panting at the exertion.

"Doc! We gotta leave, now!" he shouted as he burst through the hall door, running in the direction of the room in which he had seen the man working. He reached the last door and discovered it locked.

"Doc?! You in there? It's time to go!" he said as he pounded on the obstacle in front of him.

"I'm almost done," answered a deep, muffled voice from inside.

"Shit, we don't have time for this! If you want to live, get your ass moving!"

A few moments later, the door unlocked just as the quiet building reverberated with the sound of a slow stampede bashing its way through the blockade at the front entrance. The doctor, now sporting a large messenger bag over one shoulder, appeared in the door.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"No time for introductions, Doc. There a back way out of here?" the man in black asked, flustered, as he grabbed the other man by the arm.

"Yeah, it's this way," the doc said, taking the lead.

They raced back down the hall, bypassing the first stairwell and finding another one after rounding a few corners. They got down a few flights of stairs before the door on the floor below them flung open, spilling a few of the Undead onto the landing. The man in black fired his pistol without hesitation, and with deadly accuracy he shot enough rounds into two of the intruders to render them practically headless before he and the doc turned back to the floor above them.

"What floor are we on?" he asked.

"Fourth floor. Why?" the doc responded.

"Cafeteria's on the next floor down?"

"Yeah, but it's wide open."

"Good. Get us there."

With a nod, the doc lead them to yet another stairwell. As they entered the hallway on the third floor, one of the Undead attacked them from around a blind corner. To the surprise of the black-clad man, a long blade suddenly sprung out from within the doc's sleeve; and with one clean slash, the head of the Diseased fell to the floor with a sickening thud, the body following quickly behind it.

"What?" the doc replied to the look of the man in black. "Didn't think I made it this far without being able to defend myself, did you?"

Shaking his head with bewilderment, the pistol-toting man lead the rest of the way to the cafeteria, making sure to guide them to the windows facing the front of the building. He looked out at the grounds, noting that there were no more of the Undead outside. It would make for a cleaner escape once they were able to get out,  _if_ they could get past all the ones who were now  _inside._ He could only hope he was making the right decision by making their stand there.

The first of the Diseased ambled its way into the room. The doc dropped his bag gently to the floor and shot another long blade out of his other sleeve. The black-clad man crouched down and pulled another Beretta out of the holster on his leg, then jammed a new clip into the weapon he had already discharged. He and the doc had a short stare-down into the milky-white eyes of the human-turned-creature before it let out a loud wail.

Then its head disappeared into a fine, red mist before it could finish its death yell, its body crumbling to the ground before the doc or the man in black could move.

"You got someone coverin' us from the outside," the doc stated rather than questioned.

"Yep," the man in black answered simply; and then all hell broke loose.


	2. ZP Pilot Ch.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I had to laugh when a lot of your reviews started with, "I don't really like zombies, but..." I actually hate zombies. No joke. I'm honest-to-god terrified of them. I don't watch any show or movie that has zombies unless it's made to be funny (Shawn of the Dead, Warm Bodies), or has enough other action to counter the zombie attacks (World War Z).
> 
> So why did I choose this universe to write? Because I'm constantly in a state of fighting against my ridiculous phobia, lol. Writing about it helps me work around my fear, and it's always kind of fun to toss characters into an apocalyptic world. The other reason? I know way too freakin' much about zombies. I've read a lot so I can be for reals prepared for when the fake/actual zombiepocalypse comes about. When I take those survival tests I tend to score in the 90 percentile, lol. I figure since I know so much about it, then it'd be fairly easy for me to write about the boys being able to survive in it.
> 
> That being said, while there are zombies that are a sort of constant hindrance to our favorite lawmen, they aren't really ever seen as the "super villain" in this universe. They're an obstacle, a tool, a hazard, but also the driving factor in why our characters are doing what they're doing. The human villains will still be the top antagonists because they're worse to deal with. They're consciously deciding to be a-holes. The zombies can't help it.
> 
> So I hope that quells some of your concerns in regards to this AU. It's quite a bit more than "just another zombie fic." :)

From his position on the roof the blond-haired sniper chose his targets carefully. One by one he picked off the Undead that he deemed to pose the most threat to the two men fighting inside, reloading his silenced weapon almost as fast as he could fire it. He was the epitome of calm, barely taking a breath between shots, casual in the way he slaughtered his chosen victims. They had no way of pinpointing his position, no way to defend themselves, no place they could hide from his detached method of killing. He felt no remorse over his actions. They weren't human, after all, not anymore.

Inside the shell of the Higher Hopes Foundation there existed an ongoing battle of life and death between the living and the living dead. Moving amidst a shower of blood and gore, the doctor and the man in black dispatched their targets with the same sense of unfeeling as the sniper outside. Blades whirled and sliced cleanly through necks, bullets turned bone and tissue into unrecognizable mush. Gradually, the numbers of the Diseased began to dwindle until finally, with one last, clean shot from the rifle outside, only the living remained standing. Breathing heavily, they said nothing as they retreated towards the exit, the doctor taking a second to grab his bag on the way out. As they got back to the grounds, they paid no attention as a few more straggling Undead meandered towards them, easily falling to the sniper's bullets. Once they cleared the fence, the man in black signaled the man on the roof to come down, having decided that they all would make their way to his safe house together.

The three men moved through the streets in silence, weaving through rundown buildings, crawling beneath abandoned cars, and slipping through holes in fences. Any of the Diseased that happened to cross their path were quickly and quietly disposed of in methods that wouldn't draw further attention to their retreat. When they reached the southern edge of the city, the man in black lead them down an alley where he stooped to slide a heavy crate to one side, revealing a tunnel underneath. He motioned for his new companions to slip down the ladder before him so that he could pull the crate back into place via the handle attached to the underside; and once on the tunnel floor, he reached blindly through the darkness to the little nook dug into the wall and pulled out a flashlight. Turning it on, he again motioned for the men to follow him down the winding dirt path, staying quiet until they reached yet another ladder. This time, he didn't just push the trapdoor out of the way. He rapped on the underside of the hatch four times, paused, then tapped three more times. The door was quickly pulled open from above, pouring light down into the tunnel. The man in black smirked up at whoever was above him.

"Got company," he whispered as he waved his two followers forward.

Once they had all climbed up into the awaiting building, a mustached man closed the hatch and bolted it shut. "Now, Chris, what'd I tell you about picking up strays?" he asked jokingly, a huge grin spreading on his face.

"Chris, huh?" the doc said, holding out his hand to the dark-clad man. "Nathan Jackson. Thanks for savin' my hide back there."

"Had my reasons," Chris responded, returning the handshake. "Chris Larabee. This is Buck Wilmington."

He nodded at the mustached man, then turned to the sniper with a questioning look.

"Vin Tanner," the blond said with a salutary nod. "That was some fancy shootin' back there, pard. Cop?"

Chris smirked and shook his head. "Army Ranger, New Mexico. You?"

"SWAT sniper, Texas. How 'bout you, doc, what's the story with those blades?"

Buck looked the doctor over. "What blades?" he asked, to which Nathan complied by triggering the weapons to spring from his sleeves again. Buck whistled as he stepped closer, tugging up on Nathan's sleeves so he could inspect the riggings that were strapped to the doc's arms. He tapped on a little symbol etched into the bronze slider that the blades were attached to: twin pistols crossing over one another with tiny initials carved underneath. "Check this out, Chris, these came from the Toymaker," he said.

Chris and Vin both raised their eyebrows as they leaned in to confirm the initials scratched on the riggings. "You know him?" Chris asked the doc.

"Nah." Nathan shook his head. "A friend of a friend got these for me, but who knows how  _he_  got a hold of 'em. Funny, I always studied blade work as a hobby. Never thought I'd actually be using it to survive."

"Where's your friend, now?" Vin asked. "Sure wouldn't mind pickin' up a few new toys for myself."

Nathan just shook his head, to which the three other men nodded solemnly. None of them were strangers to losing loved ones to the virus.

"Well," Buck said, breaking the silence, "can I take your bag, Nate? You boys are free to make yourselves at home as long as you like. There's a kitchen in the back room that way." He swung his arm around to point a few closes doors on the opposite side of the room. "Chris and I've claimed those two rooms as ours, but the couches are pretty comfy. Bathroom's down that hall, there, but you gotta refill the tank manually. We keep a bucket of water by the toilet. You empty it, you're the lucky bastard that gets to go out 'n refill it." He flashed an almost evil smile at them.

Nathan and Vin looked around the altered building as Buck pointed out the various room.

"I know this place," Nathan said with surprise. "This is the old recording studio, isn't it?"

"Soundproof walls come in handy," Chris said by way of explanation.

"What'd you do with all the equipment?" Vin asked.

Chris shrugged. "Hauled it out a little at a time to make room."

"Yup," Buck smiled, throwing himself back onto one of the leather couches. "Didn't take much to turn this place into a right decent home once we hooked up the generator. Couches were already here, breakroom already had the fridge and the microwave. Those two sound studios were big enough to sleep in, and there's plenty of closet space to stash the guns. Only thing missin' is a shower, not that it'd do any good, anyway. There's an office in the back where we keep the tub if you need to wash up, but don't expect anyone to boil the water for ya. Every man for himself if you want a hot bath."

"How long've you been here?" Nathan asked incredulously.

"Few months, waiting for you," Chris answered. "Word got around you were headed back to do research."

Nathan sighed. "I don't know what all you heard, but I ain't no savior. Been workin' for months tryin' to find a cure and hit more dead ends than I can count."

"More than anyone else has done," Chris stated. "And as far as anyone knows, you're the only one left from Higher Hopes. You're the best chance we've got at fixing this."

"Not necessarily," Vin interjected, picking up on the gist of the conversation. He continued when they all turned inquisitive eyes towards him. "Rumor is someone's been spotted movin' around in the old Rising building. Could be one of the workers come back."

"You sure it's a person?" Buck asked, leaning forward in his seat with renewed interest.

"Nope," Vin admitted. "People too scared to go back to the belly of the beast to find out."

"Don't blame 'em," Buck agreed with a frown.

Chris thought on it for a few seconds before turning to Nathan. "Would it do you any good to talk to someone from Rising?"

"Depends. Anyone that took a part in altering the vaccine might be able to help me figure out the components needed to reverse the effects. If it's anyone else…well, let's just say I'd like to have a little talk with them in a different sort of way."

"Whoo, boy, I like the way you think," Buck grinned. "So what's the plan, Chris? We headin' to Denver to check it out?"

"Looks that way." Chris turned to Vin. "How 'bout you, cowboy, got any plans?"

Vin smirked. "Hell, my only plans are to kill as many of those freaks as possible before I bite the big one. Reckon I can do that just as well in Denver."

Chris smiled back. "All right, then. Rest up for the night, boys. We leave at first light."

The ex-sniper frowned. "Gonna have to go back to my place before we go, 'less ya'll got extra rounds for this?" He held up his gun case, to which Chris shook his head.

"I'll spot you to wherever you need to go. Buck and Nathan can pack up what we need here." He raised his eyebrows up at the two men he referred to, both of whom agreed without question, before he turned his attention back to Vin. "Where's your place?"

"Other side of the dump from here. Be fastest to just cut straight through."

"More dangerous," Chris pointed out.

"I ain't outta ammo, yet," Vin said, mischief playing in his eyes.

Chris looked at him for a minute, fighting back the smile that threatened to reveal itself on his lips but shined clearly in his gaze. "Guess we're going through the dump, then." He turned to address the group as a whole. "Rendezvous at the old kennel west side of town. Anyone not there by nine gets left. Understood?"

They nodded with no qualms about the threat of being left for dead; it was just the way of life in the world that existed now. Taking the extra time to go in search of a missing friend often resulted in not one, but  _two_  more Diseased roaming the city.

Buck shifted back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. "Damn. I was just startin' to like this place, too," he grumbled, though his smile never once left his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to send you all to that link again, the one where you could get paid to write fanfiction...
> 
> <http://www.weheart-tv.com/2014/03/interactive-tv-watching.html>


	3. ZP Pilot Ch.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where you'll start seeing a little bit of a shift in characterization, but in this case, it's in like the best way ever, lol. I introduce another of the boys like you've never seen him before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, guys! I'm glad you like so far, despite its zombieness. Methinks you're really going to enjoy this chapter. It's one of my favorites. :)
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting this one. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I'm actually on the creative team for that production I keep mentioning in various A/N's here and there (<http://www.weheart-tv.com/2014/03/interactive-tv-watching.html>). Basically I'm on the crew that determines how to make it fun for ya'll as the audience to be involved with the show. The things we're coming up with for the first episode...oh man! It's going to be great! You guys aren't going to want to miss it, for reals. (If you want more info on that, feel free to PM me).
> 
> Enough delay! Onto the action!

The sun hadn't even begun to peak over the horizon when Chris and Vin set out through the tunnel. They again reverted to complete silence as they traversed the streets, keeping hidden in dark corners and using obstacles to their advantage against the hungry eyes of the wandering dead. The two men, complete strangers up until the day before, moved with unspoken communication as if they had known each other for a lifetime, fleeting through the city with skill practiced only by the trained professional. They low crawled the last several exposed feet to the edge of the landfill and peered down into its depths, fearful of breaking the streak of good luck they'd had since leaving the tunnel. In the time it took to get there, they had managed to avoid all contact with the Infected, and they preferred to keep it that way. Unfortunately, the dump was a place where their luck probably wouldn't hold. Whether it was due to the sour smell, or the simple fact that animals were an easy catch there, landfills became the preferred hunting grounds for the Diseased in the cities that had mostly been cleared of any human prey.

Vin used the scope on his rifle to scan over every possible route through the mounds of garbage that he could see. His mind worked quickly to memorize the safest way to clear the maze, and he pointed out his preferred path to the ex-Ranger. Chris merely nodded, completely trusting Vin to get them to the other side of the landfill with all their limbs intact.

They made their way over to an area where the descent down into the fill was less steep and slid down the dirt on their backs, controlling their speed by digging their hands and feet into the loose sand. They both hit the bottom and used their momentum to roll behind the pile of rubbish nearest to them. To their horrified astonishment, a figure jumped out of the trash heap directly behind them. Chris and Vin both reeled around, bringing their weapons to aim on the intruder's head.

"Whoa, hey! Don't shoot! I'm alive, dammit!" the dump-diver whispered frantically as he dropped the twisted metal candleholder that had been in his hand.

Chris cursed and pulled up his gun, scowling at the man in front of him. The treasure hunter, sporting dark goggles with penlights attached to both sides of the copper eyepieces, scowled right back. He bent down and retrieved his prize, ripping off the goggles with his other hand. Vin shot a small smirk at Chris. Once they could see his face they realized he was just a kid, probably barely even legal to drink (when there were laws dictating such things).

"What're you doing here, kid?" Chris snarled in hushed tones.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" the young man shot back. He shoved the candleholder into a large duffel bag that rested at his feet, then stood and got a better look at the two men before him. He focused on Vin's rifle and stepped back, fear flashing in his eyes. He swallowed before he spoke. "Are you guys Poachers?"

The smirk was quickly wiped off Vin's face. He detested Poachers – those who killed the Diseased for a price. They were all sick bastards who wouldn't lend a hand to someone in need unless there was compensation for it, and who always took trophies off the Infected they killed. Vin had seen one Poacher who wore strings of rotting ears around his neck, and another who kept a lockbox full of fingers that were adorned with rings.  _"Locusts shouldn't be wearin' jewelry like they're human,"_ the man had explained with a feral smile.

Vin wasn't like that. He was a hunter, not a Poacher. He killed so that others might get a chance to live, might not end up like the rest of the members of his team. There was no pleasure in it for him, nor was there any ruthlessness. It was his task, his assignment, and he aimed to carry it out even though the man who had given him the order was long since dead. Vin Tanner was S.W.A.T. through and through, and he would continue to carry out his mission until he either succeeded, or died trying.

"Ain't no Poachers," he hissed in disgust.

The kid visibly relaxed, then furled his eyebrows in confusion. "Well, if you're not Poachers and you're not Scavengers, then what are  _you_ doin' here?"

"Passing through," Chris answered.

"The dump? Why didn't you just go around?"

Chris stepped forward. "Keep your voice down, kid, you want every damn Infected in this place to hear you?"

"Yeah, 'cause you shooting me in the face wouldn't have lead them right to you," he sassed back.

Vin tugged on Chris's arm, a tiny grin returning to his lips. The kid was quick, that was for certain. "Come on, Chris, we don't have time for this."

"Good, I don't have time for you, either," the kid shot out.

Chris shook his head as he started to follow Vin further into the landfill. He heard a sigh behind him and footsteps approaching.

"What?" He snarled as he turned back to face the young Scavenger.

"You can't go that way," the kid said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I-" Somewhere ahead of them, glass crunched and they heard a  _whoosh,_  followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. "-booby trapped it."

Smirking, Chris said. "Guess we can go that way, now."

The kid pressed his lips together and turned back to the trash heap he had been searching. Chris and Vin exchanged glances before heading in the direction from which they heard the sound. Slowly, they maneuvered through the rotting debris until they came upon the place where the trap had been sprung. The corpse of one of the Undead lay sprawled on the ground, head decapitated just above the bottom jaw and foot snagged up in a trip wire. Vin gently traced his fingers along the thin metal thread and, making certain he and Chris were ducked low, gave it a tug. Out from a hidden slot in the junk pile came a large, sharpened piece of metal. It swung directly over their heads before disappearing back into the hole. He pulled the tripwire again, and it swung out in the opposite direction before disappearing.

"Resets itself every time," he mused, taking a moment to pull the corpse's foot away from the thread so the trap would continue to function properly. "Smart kid."

"Can't be too smart if he spends his days in the dump," Chris grumbled as he stood up, careful to step over the wire.

Vin just smiled and stepped around him as he regained his role of guide through the mounds of garbage. They walked about fifteen minutes before the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stopped moving and glanced around, noting that Chris was doing the same. Something was watching them, stalking them, and both men were keenly aware of it. Chris turned just in time to catch a blur of brown flash between the trash heaps on his left. Vin spun around and caught sight of something keeping pace just ahead of them.

"Shit," he breathed out. "They got us."

"Not yet, they don't," Chris whispered back as he slowly pulled out his other gun.

They stepped back a few paces so that they came right up against a wall of debris, preventing themselves from being flanked from behind. More and more of the small moving shapes zipped across their line of sight, disappearing and reappearing amongst the refuse. Vin set down the rifle and pulled out his own handheld firearm, fingering the extra clips strapped to the back of his belt in the process. They held their weapons steady and waited, patient, but ready to spring into action when the time called for it.

A rumbling growl bit through the silence at their right. They swiveled their eyes in that direction, careful not to move their heads too much. A large black dog stood stiff, head bowed down and ice-blue eyes glowering up at them. Drool poured from its mouth as it snarled and snapped its yellowing fangs. Its whole body was one massive coil of tension, its muscles shivering with the strain of holding itself back.

Four things happened simultaneously: the dog leaped, Chris fired, the rest of pack converged on the two men with startling speed, and a series of blinding flashes illuminated the sky with resounding pops. Chris and Vin, momentarily unable to see, kept their guns trained ahead of them and listened as they heard first one yelp, then another.

"Duck!" a familiar voice yelled, and they instantly complied. Vin felt paws brush against his back and the second he heard the dog's landing, he opened fire in its direction. There was a whine and a satisfying thud as it hit the ground, and Vin chanced blinking through blurry vision just in time to catch another flash of light.

"Dammit!" he yelled, pressing his palms to his eyes.

"Sorry!" that voice yelled again. "Run straight ahead, there's a clear path!"

Vin reached around the ground until he grasped his rifle. Chris, who had still kept his eyes firmly closed during the second assault, opened them and immediately realized the sniper's predicament. He reached a hand down and hauled Vin to his feet, guiding him forward through the chaos of enraged canines and bright exploding lights. He heard one of the dogs coming up fast behind him and spun around just long enough to fire a round into its chest. It stumbled and skidded to a stop in the dirt inches away from their heels, blood frothing from its mouth. Another form slipped down from the top of the trash mound beside them and Chris sprung his weapon up to fire, holding his finger on the trigger at the last second upon realizing he was pointing his weapon at not a dog, but a human being.

"Geezus, will you stop doin' that?!" the kid, with his goggles firmly back in place, yelled. He fell in step beside them and as they continued to run, he reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a few small, golden boxes. "Here," he said, shoving one into Vin's free hand, "wind this."

Teary-eyed, Vin looked at the object he was holding and found a tiny music box key in the bottom of it. He cranked it several times and looked at the kid, a question mark on his face.

"Throw it!" the dump-diver yelled.

Vin tossed it back towards the remaining dogs that were still in pursuit and turned away as the box exploded into another flash of light. The dogs yelped and scattered, one of which slammed blindly right into the husk of a car, impaling itself on an exposed piece of the frame. The other dogs reconvened, but fell back, pawing viciously at their eyes. The three men rounded a corner and came to a sliding halt as they realized they were now face-to-face with a new enemy – a moaning group of the Undead who had been drawn to the sounds of a battle for life.

"Shit," the dump-diver whispered.

"Go, that way!" Larabee ordered, shoving the others towards the trash heap on their right. As they scrambled up onto the mound, the Undead moving in to follow, Chris paused long enough to empty his clip into the heads of several of their pursuers. He raised his other gun to repeat the process, but stopped when he felt his empty weapon being yanked out of his hand. The young Scavenger bolted with it further up the garbage pile while Vin hauled the confused (and now angry) ex-Ranger behind him, pulling him back from the arms of the Diseased that were now almost upon them. The sniper emptied his own handgun into the crowd of moaning corpses as the kid slid to a stop at the top of the heap, throwing his bag down and rifling through it. He came up with a few gun clips, jamming one into the bottom of Chris's firearm and, without looking, shoving the weapon back at the surprised man.

"Gimme yours," the young man said, reaching out for Vin's gun. "Nice. Sig. .357?" At Vin's nod, the kid picked out another of the clips from his assorted handful and loaded the gun, handing it back to the sniper. The two men inspected their weapons for a second before the young man threw his arms up in exasperation. "Don't just stand there. Shoot 'em!" he said, pointing as the Undead made their ascent up the hill.

Chris and Vin didn't need to be told again. They spun around and each chose a target, firing at nearly the same time. They also jumped back at nearly the exact same time when the heads of their victims virtually disappeared with the impact of the one tiny bullet. As they stopped and stared at their guns, then at one another, two more of the Diseased fell headless in front of them. They spun around to see the kid holding up twin gold-colored revolvers, the gun barrels sporting ornate carvings all the way around them and down into the pearl handles. Tanner grinned and shrugged at Larabee before turning back to the fight, the man in black quick to follow suit. The three of them took down several more of the converging masses of Undead before they were forced to retreat down the back side of the garbage pile, quickly cutting a path through the few Diseased that had tried to come up behind them. As they emptied their weapons, they would hand them off to the young Scavenger who was quick to reload them with the exploding rounds. They hadn't gone far when a low rumbling sound could be heard before them on the path they had chosen.

The kid smacked his head. "Oh, the dogs," he whined, cursing himself for forgetting they were still a threat in his haste to escape the hungry swarm of Undead at their backs. "I only got a couple special clips left," he warned the others. "Don't waste 'em. Use your regular ammo on the hounds."

Chris and Vin nodded, silently working out a plan between them. The ex-Ranger exchanged the clips in both Berettas for the regular ones he carried while Tanner kept the special rounds in his Sig. Chris would handle the dogs, Vin would cover their backs against the Infected humans. The kid loaded each of his revolvers with different ammo, prepared to fire at either type of enemy. Once set, they slipped quietly down a side path between the refuse, hoping to get through undetected by any of their pursuers.

Not surprisingly, it was the pale-eyed canines that found them first and they brought more of their friends along. After a firm warning to the others to shut their eyes, the young man tossed another several flashbombs towards the dogs, succeeding in scattering them a bit so the pack remained divided. Chris took the opportunity to fire at them, taking down two of the beasts before he heard Vin's gun going off beside him. He turned to see the sniper firing at another group of Diseased that were ambling up another path on their other side. The only way to go was forward, so they ran while maintaining the steady rate at which they disposed of their enemies. The three worked like a well-oiled machine, taking turns firing over and around one another, exchanging weapons to be loaded, pausing when bombs were tossed, and abandoning their onslaught when an opportunity presented itself for them to make a full-on sprint to the dump's exit. They clambered up and over the fence on the other side of the landfill from where Chris and Vin had entered, keeping up their rapid pace into the trees beyond as they heard the dogs slamming into the barrier behind them. The men didn't stop moving until they were certain they had gotten away without any followers, which was basically when none of them felt they could run any further. Breathing heavily, they sat down in the soft leaves covering the forest floor, letting the adrenaline rush slowly fade from their tired bodies.

"Damn, kid," Vin huffed out once he had regained his breath enough to speak. "Who the hell are you?"

The young man smiled as he remained laying out flat on his back, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead before he turned to answer the sniper. "Name's John Dunne."

Chris sat up straight. "JD," he barely whispered, taking another look at the twin revolvers that the kid had abandoned beside him on the ground. "I'll be damned," he snorted out a laugh. "You're the damn Toymaker."

JD picked up the revolvers and crossed them over each other just like they appeared on his token stamp, then flipped them up so the boys could see the initials etched into the bottoms of the pearl handles. "At your service," he grinned.

Chris shook his head. "A kid. Who would've thought…"

Vin couldn't hold back his laughter any more and flopped down beside the Toymaker, tears streaming down his face. When he got himself under control, he stretched out a hand to the amused young man. "Vin Tanner. Nice to meet ya, JD."

The kid shook it readily, then sat up to extend his hand to the man in black. Chris took it and introduced himself, then after a pause he asked, "You in town for any particular reason?"

"On commission for a guy I did a job for a few years back," he explained.

"Thought you worked from back east," Vin pointed out.

"I do normally, but this guy's kinda particular about his weapons. It's a lot easier for me to just build 'em down here where he can ask me to make changes as I go along," the kid shrugged.

"You trust this man?" Larabee asked.

JD thought on it for a minute. "I don't really know him that well, but he seems nice enough. He's some sort of preacher, a little off his rocker I think, but he knows what he's doing. Tracked me down last time to build these wicked blades for a friend of his."

Chris and Vin exchanged a look. "He close by here?" the sniper asked.

The Toymaker shook his head. "Lives in a church over on the west side of the city."

"Perfect," Chris said with a smirk. "We'll swing by and grab him on the way out of town. Come on kid, you're with us."

He stood up and waited for the sniper to get to his feet. The young inventor looked up at them in confusion. "Where are we goin'?" he asked.

Vin couldn't help but grin at the kid's simple acceptance of Chris's order.

"Denver," the dark-clad man answered.

JD nodded and got to his feet, hoisting his bag up onto his shoulders. Chris turned to Vin, who smiled and shook his head, then began to lead the way back to his safehouse to retrieve what he would need for the long journey ahead.


	4. ZP Pilot Ch.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Add one more to this mix... This chapter isn't as exciting, but there is a little bit of fun and yet another surprise. I kind of super love my version of JD, lol.

"They really going through the dump?" Nathan asked as he shoved boxes of ammunition into a bag.

"Knowin' Chris, yeah," Buck grinned, carefully laying a rifle into its case and snapping the lid shut.

"How long you two known each other?" the doctor asked.

Buck paused in his packing, his eyes getting a distant look and an almost sad smile touching his face. "A damn long time, since before we were Rangers."

Nathan watched the man, knowing there were stories between these two soldiers he had just fallen in with, but he wouldn't pry. In the age they lived in now, everyone had their tragedies and everyone fought their battles; it was up to the individual to decide whether to share those trials with any other. He had plenty of demons of his own to contend with; he wouldn't make any man mention theirs unwillingly.

Buck set the rifle next to the small pile of necessities he and Nathan had collected, shooting a curious glance at the doctor's messenger bag. Like Nathan, he wouldn't ask the stranger in front of him to divulge any secrets, but the care in which the doc was handling the bag had him wondering at its contents.

"Research," Nathan said as he dropped the ammo in amongst the rest of their few belongings. "There's vials in there. Hoping maybe one of 'em will reverse the effects of a bite."

Buck looked at the doctor with wide eyes. "You think you can change people back?"

"Maybe," Nathan shrugged. "Only the ones in the early stages, though. Once their eyes go white they're already dead."

"Were you planning on testing those out?" Buck asked, the hesitation clear in his tone.

Nathan almost laughed at the look on the mustached man's face. "I had rats back at the compound, but if you want to volunteer for a human test… "

"Hell no! Who in their right mind would go and get bit on purpose?" Buck guffawed.

"If it works, you'd be a hero," Nathan shrugged with a grin.

"Then you can just keep that honor to yourself, Doc," the ex-Ranger smirked, catching on to the joke. He hefted a few bags up onto his shoulders and turned to take one last glance around at the studio he had called home for the past several months. "Damn good safehouse," he sighed, shaking his head.

The doctor loaded himself up with the rest of the gear. "The faster we get to Denver, the sooner you can make a new one," he said. "Now let's go, before those other two idiots decide to leave without us."

Buck laughed outright and slapped Nathan on the arm. "Oh yeah, you're gonna fit right in with us, pard. You call Chris an idiot to his face, though, and I bet you really  _are_  gonna be testin' that vaccine on yourself." He stifled his amusement as he bent down to open up the hatch in the floor. "You ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," Nathan nodded, feeling the comforting weight of the blades tucked up against his arms.

The two men slipped quietly down into the hole, humor still lighting their faces as they felt some unexplainable confidence in the notion that all four of them would make it of Shreveport in one piece.

_~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~_

Vin and Chris sat on the front porch of the sniper's cabin. He had been using one of the buildings at the long-abandoned boy's summer camp, and Chris had to admit that the location was perfect for a safehouse. It was quiet out in the woods, just far enough away from civilization that the Diseased paid it no notice, but close enough to make any necessary runs into the city for supplies.

Tanner didn't actually have that many belongings to pack up, and most of that consisted of a few more guns and the ammunition that went with them. Finished in rapid time, the only reason they hadn't taken off for the rendezvous point yet was because JD had asked them not to. The kid bailed on them as soon as the campground was in sight, hollering over his shoulder that he had to go get something and not to leave without him, that the wait would be worth it.

"How long should we sit here?" Vin asked after Larabee checked his watch for probably the tenth time.

Chris was about to answer when they heard the sound of wheels rolling on gravel. Both men stood up and stared down the road that led up to the cabins, the surprise on their faces evident as a vehicle that looked like a hybrid between a stretch Hummer (with no engine compartment on the front) and a tank made its way around the corner. The thick metal was painted all in camo, and from what they could tell, there were no windows at all on the machine. The line of tires rolled on a tread, easily bouncing over the holes and fallen branches that littered the gravel path. As it got closer, they could see several various open slits and closed compartments lining the sides of the massive rig, and a large metal box adorned the roof set amidst a collection of solar panels.

"What the hell?" Vin asked as the vehicle pulled up in front of them.

Half the front of the vehicle suddenly pushed out on metal hinges, revealing JD sporting a huge grin on his face. He jumped down to the ground and patted the vehicle lovingly.

"Guys, meet Weena. Took me almost two years to get her perfect."

Chris and Vin looked at each other, small grins growing on their faces. They stepped forward and began inspecting the outside of the vehicle.

"What's it run on?" Chris asked.

" _She_ runs on steam," the Toymaker explained, and almost laughed at the skeptical looks shared between the two older men. "I just fill her up with water, any kind 'cause I have it running through a filter, and the solar panels heat it up to boiling. The steam gets recycled back through the system and any water left in it goes back into the tank, so I don't have to refill as often. Cool, huh?"

Vin whistled and traced his hand around one of the closed compartments. "What's in these?"

The kid smiled mischievously. "It'll be better if you can see those in action. I'll show you on the way to Denver."

The comment reminded the ex-Ranger to glance down at his watch again. "We gotta move, boys. Still have to pick up the preacher before we meet up with the others."

"Oh, you're gonna  _love_ the inside," the kid exclaimed, obviously pleased to show his prized toy off to whoever was interested.

Vin and Chris grabbed their stuff and stepped into the rig, their eyes growing wide at what they were seeing. There was one chair up front that swiveled around within a console full of levers and various screens, some with camera footage from all the way around the outside of the rig and others with what looked like radar imaging. Thin light tubes were mounted in rows all the way down the ceiling, merging together at a crank wheel mounted just above the driver's seat. JD saw what they were looking at and leaned forward, turning the wheel a few times which caused the lights to glow even brighter. With the whole interior fully illuminated, it became clear that the vehicle was not used strictly for transportation purposes. Folded up against the walls, much like in a camper, were various living accommodations including a small table, a twin mattress, a counter, and a couch bench. There was a closet of sorts in the very back of the rig where JD directed them to stash the bags they were holding. When he opened the door, the space within was much larger than they had thought possible, revealing more of a full storage unit than a closet. Odd weapons, both finished and not, littered the area and there were small cabinets where tools were arranged half-hazardly.

"Sorry, it's kinda cluttered," the kid shrugged. "It's my mobile workshop, most people don't see this. Here, you can set your stuff over in this corner."

They did as told while JD brushed passed them again, popping the cushioned bench down with the flip of a spring-loaded latch as he made his way to the front of the rig. Chris and Vin settled onto it and watched with slight concern as the kid slammed the one door shut and went through a process of cranking several turn-wheels that were tucked beneath the driving console.

"Uh, kid, how do you drive this thing?" Vin ventured, still curious about the lack of windows or even slits to see out of.

The rig started moving forward, smoothly rolling along the battered remains of the campground's street. The kid kept his eyes glued to the many screens on the console, steering the vehicle with a control column rather than a typical wheel. The whole operational system reminded Chris more of a flight simulator than a car's dashboard, and he couldn't help but wonder what all the various levers were for.

"It's like a video game," JD explained. "I can see everything right here on the screens."

"Isn't that kinda dangerous?" the sniper asked, a little uneasy with the whole concept.

"Isn't a zombie smashing in a window kinda dangerous?" the kid shot back with a grin.

Chris smirked and shook his head.  _Smartass._ "Could've just got bullet-proof glass," he pointed out.

JD hesitated a second before he explained, never taking his eyes off the screens in front of him. "Yeah…I tried that before. The thing with bulletproof glass is that it still chips and cracks and stuff when people are shooting high velocity rounds at it…"

"Someone shot at you?" Larabee asked, a touch of anger in his voice.

"More than once." The Toymaker shrugged one shoulder as if the attacks were just an everyday occurrence. "People see Weena and they get jealous, like it's my fault I got a car and they don't. Had a few run-ins with Pirates that tried to take her, and bulletproof glass got too hard to find for me to keep replacing it. I've made some…uh…upgrades since I first built her. She keeps me safe from anything now."

The two men on the bench quietly nodded, wondering how much this kid had to go through in his young life to become the person he was now, building weapons designed to quickly and efficiently dispatch any enemy. Had things gone differently and the world hadn't gone to Hell, he probably would have grown to be a very rich man with his sort of talents. Unfortunately, they would never know what sort of life he could have led; but one thing was for certain – Vin and Chris were glad to have Toymaker on their side now.

A sudden thought struck Chris and he looked sharply at the kid. "JD, where did you have this thing parked?"

"Other side of the dump where I found you," he shrugged

The Ranger and the sniper shared a look.

"How'd you get to it?" Larabee asked tensely, already knowing the answer.

JD answered in a conversational tone. "Went back the way we came. Why?"

The man in black bristled at the casual answer. "The place was crawling with Diseased! Coulda gotten yourself killed going back through there!"

For the first time since the rig had started moving, JD looked away from the screens and narrowed in on the Ranger. "Coulda gotten-? I'm a  _Scavenger._ " He turned back to his driving and mumbled, "Practically live in junkyards…"

Vin looked at the kid and back around at the vehicle design. "Ain't no Scavenger," he said softly.

"I hang out in the dump and collect garbage. What else would ya call me?" the Toymaker asked, his tone now slightly heated.

The sniper grimaced. "Scavengers are no more'n rats, JD. They take what they can for themselves and bite at anyone that tries to get near 'em. You're not like that. You're more like an artist just picking up tools for his trade."

JD grinned with pride until Chris mumbled, "A young, stupid artist aiming to get himself turned before he's old enough to drink."

Again the kid turned cold eyes on Larabee. "I'm older than I look, and if I'd gotten myself killed goin' through that dump it woulda been during the first time through while I was busy savin'  _your_  asses."

Vin broke out into laughter as Chris clenched his teeth together. "He's got us there, cowboy," he said, ignoring the glare the Ranger turned on him.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna regret this trip?" Larabee muttered, though he couldn't stop the slight smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips.

_~~~~~~~7777777~~~~~~~_

Vin, not enjoying the feeling of being boxed in, had opted to stand behind the inventor for most of the drive so he could watch the activity on the cameras. For the most part they just passed right on by the scattered Undead milling around, the rig moving too fast for them to be any real threat. At one point a couple of them had meandered into the road and JD finally pulled one of the mystery levers on the console, more because the sniper had seemed so excitedly curious about them than the actual need to use it. In reality JD could've just run them down with the tank, but taking a few well-aimed shots with the large automatic rifle that popped out of its home on the left side of the rig had also been pretty fun. Watching Vin's face light up had been even more fun.

Chris had just shaken his head in amusement, thinking to himself that the two of them looked like a couple of goddamn kids in an arcade.

They were getting close to the scheduled rendezvous time when they finally pulled up to the rundown remnants of what may have once been a beautiful church. Chris knew the building, had been past it several times on his various treks through the city but had never realized anyone still lived inside. It was a good sign that the preacher knew how not to be noticed, how to survive.

JD stepped ahead of Chris and Vin and knocked loudly on the door. "Hey Preacherman! Open up! It's Toymaker!"

Vin clamped a hand over the inventor's mouth. "Geezus, kid, just announce to every damned Diseased in the area that we're here."

JD pulled away from the sniper's grip. "How stupid do you think I am, seriously? Weena's got radar for a reason, ya know. There's nothing around here within hearing distance except-"

The door swung open to a gray haired man mumbling and cursing about stupid kids interrupting his morning penance. He didn't even look at them as he strolled back towards the church podium, leaving the door hanging wide open to allow them entrance.

"We're going to Denver!" JD suddenly blurted out.

The preacher turned and looked at him as if the kid had grown a second head. "You wanna run that by me again?"

Chris stepped forward, shooting a little glare at the Toymaker. "You know a doctor named Nathan Jackson?"

The big man smiled a little. "Nathan? Knew him like a brother. Smart man." His smile faded as he shook his head. "Heard he got himself killed up north somewhere."

Tanner grinned. "Funny, he told us yesterday about a good friend of his that ordered those fancy blades for him. Said  _he_  was dead."

A deep laugh rolled out of the preacher. "Well, I guess we were both misinformed." He reached out his hand. "Josiah Sanchez."

Chris accepted Josiah's handshake. "Chris Larabee, and this is Vin Tanner. We were on our way to meet back up with the Doc and a friend of mine when JD here told us about you. Interested in tagging along?"

"Just like that? You're willing to take a man aboard with no questions asked?" Josiah raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"You got any about us?" Vin fired back with a smirk.

Josiah laughed again and looked around his church. "Not exactly in the habit of taking off with strangers-"

"I'm not a stranger," JD pointed out.

"I was about to get to that, son, don't interrupt," the preacher scolded. "As I was saying, if Toymaker thinks your good people I have no reason to doubt that. Boy doesn't normally trust easily unless he has a mind to." JD looked away self-consciously at the comment as Josiah continued. "And if the good Lord saw fit to bring a friend back from the dead – in human form, that is – to bring you to my door, figure it must be a sign that I'm meant to come along. Don't exactly have a parish to preach to anymore, anyway."

"Not gonna be an easy trip," Chris warned, feeling the need to at least explain some of what was going on despite the relative ease with which the preacher seemed to be agreeing to join their little party. "We're headed to  _Rising._ Doc's hoping to find something there that'll help his research."

"He still trying to find a cure?" Josiah asked.

Vin nodded. "Seems to me he's the type that'll keep tryin' 'til he either finds it or gets himself killed."

Josiah smiled. "Too damn noble for his own good." He shook his head and began to walk off towards a back room.

"Where ya goin'?" JD asked.

"To get my things. Can't think of a more holy mission for the lord to send me on than reversing the devil's work." With that, he slipped from sight.

Chris and Vin exchanged looks. The kid was right, Josiah was a little bit odd, but having one more capable man on their team couldn't hurt. If they were going by the preacher's analogy, then stepping into  _Rising_ would be akin to waltzing right down into Hell. An army of six may not do much to take down the devil, himself, but it might just give them a fighting chance.


	5. ZP Pilot Ch.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does know how to make an entrance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...there was once upon a time when my computer crashed and I lost a bunch of stuff. I was going through emails with my writer's circle so I could recollect pieces of stories I had lost, and I stumbled upon an email in which I had apparently decided to title this Pilot ZP fic, "Rising," which was a play on the Rising organization mentioned in the first chapter as having been responsible for the fall of the modern world, a nod to the rising of the Seven, and also just a means of tinkering with the whole dead rising from the grave idea. I remembered thinking it was clever, and that it was perfect for the "rising" of a new AU, lol. So, yeah, I changed the title to reflect that. I hope that doesn't confuse anyone!
> 
> On that note, let us continue with ZP: Rising...

Nathan and Buck sat by the side of the cracked road at the designated rendezvous point. Every few seconds the ex-Ranger would glance down at his watch and frown.

"We can give 'em a little more time if you want. I'm not in any hurry," Nathan said.

Buck shook his head. "Not worried about that. I don't care what Chris said, I'd wait here all day if I knew for sure they were comin'. It's just not normal for him to be late. He must've run into some trouble somewhere."

"You wanna go look for 'em?"

After a few moments' hesitation, Buck sighed and looked back down the street. "Not yet. If he shows up and finds us gone, and  _not_ headed towards Denver, he'll be madder'n a Pirate whose loot got stolen by a Scavenger right out from under his nose."

Nathan laughed. "Then I guess we better wait around a little longer."

Not two seconds later the tall shrubbery several yards in front of them exploded, and they scrambled for cover inside the dilapidated kennel building as the area was showered with dirt, branches, and remnants of something that used to be alive. A second explosion followed shortly after the first a little further away, giving Buck and Nathan that little bit of time needed to pull out weaponry that was a bit more heavy duty than their pistols. They waited in silence as the air cleared, tension filling their bodies as they tried to see who was on the attack and who was on the defense. They wondered whether they were actually even a part of the sudden violence, or if they had somehow just gotten a little too close to someone's turf war. Buck turned his head as he picked up on the sound of a vehicle approaching, and tapped Nathan's shoulder as a signal to cover him while he moved to investigate.

"Damn, boys, my grandma could've run faster 'n you!" a familiar voice rang out over some sort of loud speaker.

"Vin?" Buck asked, looking at Nate for confirmation. The doctor merely shrugged and moved to stand beside Buck in the doorway.

Their jaws dropped as they caught sight of the monstrous metal box cresting the ridge. "It's alright, boys, you can come out," Chris's voice came over the vehicle's sound system.

Buck laughed as he approached the slowing rig. "Hell, Chris, I sent you out for rifle ammo and you come back with a tank? Can't leave you alone for two seconds, can I?"

The vehicle came to a stop and the odd door in the front swung open, Vin jumping out first with a big smile plastered on his face, and Chris stepping out right behind him. Nathan walked up and stood beside Buck, both of them staring in awe at the vehicle as JD hopped out. Buck took one look at the way the kid was dressed - old vest, pinstriped slacks, pocket watch, dirty dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and with brass, dark-tinted goggles resting on his forehead – and began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" JD asked.

"Where do you shop, kid? The retirement home?" Buck snickered and looked back at Chris. "We takin' in strays, now?"

"Nope," Chris grinned. "We're taking in the Toymaker."

Buck abruptly stopped laughing, his jaw hanging open as he looked JD up and down. "You're kiddin' me."

"No he ain't," JD said indignantly, tugging sharply on his vest, "so you better treat me with some respect or you can just walk to Denver."

A deep voice came from within the rig. "And you should probably thank him, too. You were being stalked by a pack of Hellhounds before JD, here, blew them back to the Underworld."

Josiah stepped out with a knowing smile and watched as Nathan's eyes went wide. Before the doc could say anything, the preacher tugged him forward into a tight hug. Nathan returned it with a laugh.

"I heard you were dead," he stated, a beaming smile on his face.

Josiah shook his head and stood back, keeping his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Not just yet, and I heard the same about you. Glad to know rumor's still as wrong as it ever was."

Nathan chuckled. "I second that. What've you been doin' all this time?"

Christ interrupted any further conversation with a wave of his hand. "You can play catch-up in the tank-"

"Weena," JD corrected.

Buck snorted. "What sort of name is  _that_ for a rig? This baby seems more like a...Laura to me. Yeah, like that old video game with the guns and the short shorts."

He reached out to run his hand along one of the guns that was still sticking out of the side of the vehicle, and looked approvingly at the cannon barrel that had emerged from the top.

JD slapped his hand away from his rig. "Weena's the name of the girl from 'The Time Machine.' You know? H.G. Wells?" Buck simply arched an eyebrow at him, making him roll his eyes. "Never mind."

"You boys done?" Chris asked and waited for their nods. "All right. Let's get this stuff on board and get out of here. We've got a long way to go before we hit Denver."

Without another word they stashed the weapons in the storage area of the rig and set out, Vin and Chris sitting in the seats at the little table in amicable silence as they traveled, Nathan and Josiah catching up from where they sat on the fold-down couch, and Buck standing behind JD, pestering him with curious yet excited questions about every crankshaft, button, and lever that he could see. Vin watched the mustached man's playful, teasing nature, and JD's irritated retaliations.

"Are they gonna be a problem?" he asked Chris quietly.

The man in black smirked. "Probably."

Vin smiled back with a nod. "Just checkin'."

They shared a laugh as Buck yanked the goggles off JD's head and put them on his own. The kid's anger dissolved into laughter almost instantly as he reached up and snapped one of the brass lenses against the ex-Ranger's face. Buck hollered out an exaggerated yell and moved like he was going to slap the Toymaker on the back of the head; then seemed to think better of it as JD's attention flicked back to some sort of blip on one of the screens. Seeing the instant change in attitude from funny kid to all-business driver and weapons operator, Buck respectfully placed the goggles down on the console and let the Toymaker do his thing; it seemed the time for games was over, and their journey had only just begun.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"So…Hellhounds?" Buck asked as he shifted in his seat beside Nathan and Josiah, eager to break the silence that had fallen within the vehicle for the past hour.

The preacher nodded. "If there's a better name for them, I'd love to hear it, but personally I can't think of anything more fitting. Diseased dogs that have the same bloodlust as the Infected and a high tolerance for pain, only they're not dead? Not to mention they can run and jump and bite just as well as any normal dog, spreading the virus to anyone they get ahold of. Sounds like doing the Devil's bidding to me."

"Can't argue with that," Buck agreed, then frowned. "You aren't gonna be preachin' to us about all our…uh… _sins,_ are you?"

Josiah leaned back in his seat, letting a deep laugh roll out from his chest. "I try to follow the Lord's word, but I am far from a saint, son. I can appreciate the taste of good beer, the feel of a soft woman, and the crack of a demon's head as it falls back to Hell as much as the next man."

A chorus of, "Amen" rang out amongst the rig followed by easy laughter, but the relaxed atmosphere was quickly brought to a halt, cut off by a whispered curse from JD. All eyes turned to the various screens that he was glancing at, the radar showing several red blips circling around their location and closing distance quickly.

"What do we got?" Chris asked as he moved to stand behind the kid's chair.

"Knew we should've gone around Dallas," JD mumbled to himself before answering the question. "Probably Pirates who spotted us goin' through the city."

Vin stood up, too. "The kind with motor bikes, by the looks of it," he added, observing the speed with which the blinking dots were moving.

It wasn't long before the images of several people on modified dirt bikes appeared on the video feeds, several of them armed with high-caliber weapons.

"Hold on, guys, this is gonna get a little rocky," the Toymaker warned just before one of the Pirates riding in a sidecar fired a round from a handheld cannon. JD pulled a lever and pressed a button, firing his own round to counter the enemy's. The two intersected and exploded close enough to the rig to rock it slightly. "Sorry," he apologized before pulling several more levers and turning one of the cranks.

"Can we help?" Chris asked.

JD answered as he flipped a switch, sending a blast of fire out in front of the vehicle to take out one of the bikes that had gotten within range. "Ever play shooter games?"

Buck barked out a laugh. "We're Rangers, kid, we played the real deal."

"Yeah, but can you aim a controller like this?" the Toymaker persisted, swiveling his chair around to squeeze the handle of what looked like a copper joystick. The guys watched as one of the side machine guns responded to his touch, firing rounds in a wide arc that took down another biker and forced the others to scatter.

"Surprised you're even old enough to remember what a video game was," Buck snorted as he tapped the kid's hand away from the joystick. "Let a pro show you how it's done."

He pulled the handle to the side and cringed as the gun jerked wildly away from the targets. "Oops, she's a little more sensitive than I thought," he shrugged, and moved his hand a little slower until he brought the barrel back around. Lining up the crosshairs on the screen with his intended victim, he squeezed the trigger gently and whooped as he took down the rider.

Chris pointed at the screens that were televising the back and other side of the rig. "Don't celebrate yet, there's a lot more coming."

"Um, okay, Chris you take this one," JD instructed, setting him up on a stick much like the one Buck was starting to master. "Vin, you were a sniper, right?"

"Just show me where to point," the S.W.A.T. shooter answered.

JD pulled the drive-stick hard, sharply wrenching the vehicle off the road and sending it barreling straight towards a cluster of the attacking Pirates. They were forced to veer away again as he hit the flame shooter for a second time. "See that hatch above your head?" he asked without even turning around, or waiting for a reply. "There's a crawl space up there just under the cannon where I put some sliding panels for ventilation, but I found out they come in real handy to shoot from if you have to. You'll have to lay down, though, there's not enough room for anything more than that."

"Good," Vin smiled, "layin' down's usually easier, anyway."

Without another word he quickly retrieved his rifle from the rig's storage area/workshop and slipped up into the small compartment, shutting the hatch closed beneath him. They couldn't hear his gunfire above the noise from the other weapons, but Chris smiled as one Pirate seemed to mysteriously fly backwards off his bike from an invisible force. The one that had been next to him in the sidecar slumped back a second later, and the driverless vehicle careened into one of its neighbors that hadn't moved away in time, causing both bikes to explode. A third rider just managed to avoid the wreckage by gunning his bike up a grassy mound, the fire licking at his boots as he sailed over his burning compatriots. He landed smoothly, but instead of pushing forward towards the tank like the rest of the Pirates, he suddenly stopped his bike in a skidding turn. Even through the black helmet Chris could tell that the man was assessing the situation, seeing where all the players were, calculating his odds. This one was smart, which made him dangerous.

"Buck, can you hit that one in the red leather jacket?" he asked, but it came out sounding more like an order than an actual question.

"No problem," came the reply, but just as Buck was about to pull the trigger, the rider sped off in a direction angling away from the rig and straight towards another wave of attackers.

"What the hell is he doing?" Nathan muttered from where he stood watching as the rider set himself on a course directly perpendicular to his fellow Pirates, gunning his bike to an even faster rate as he approached them. The other riders ignored the odd behavior as if familiar with this maneuver and kept up their pace, intent on staking claim to the Toymaker's most prized possession. It wasn't until it was too late that they realized the man who was supposedly coming to join them was not going to slow down or turn his bike to fall in line with the group. His aim was to crash right into them.

Much too close to impact for comfort, the lone rider hopped his feet up onto his seat and pushed off the bike, hitting the ground hard in a semi-controlled roll and barreling across the ground at an alarming speed away from the oncoming catastrophe. He disappeared from sight as the screaming, twisting metal of vehicle fusing with vehicle vanished inside a brilliant flash, followed nano-seconds later by a thundering boom that caught everyone within the safety of Weena's metal walls off guard.

JD ground his invention to a sliding halt and stared in awe at the image on the screen of the massive fireball that used to be several men and their bikes not three seconds before. "Wow. Those were definitely  _not_  normal explosives those guys were carrying," he thought out loud.

"No shit," Buck answered with surprise in his own voice.

Nathan shook off his own shock and pointed at the other screens. "Well, whatever it was did the trick. Those other guys are pulling away."

"All but one," Josiah said.

They squinted at the screen even harder as if they could clear the smoke with their eyes, and sure enough, a blurred image came into view of a familiar figure moving towards them. The red jacket stood out amidst the thick, grey cloud pillar, though the leather was now torn and dirty, fading it out to a dull crimson. The man cradled his left arm with his right and stumbled a bit as he walked, falling to his knees when he escaped the worst of the acrid smoke, and yanking off his helmet to draw in deep breaths of the cleaner air.

"We just gonna leave him out there?" Vin suddenly asked as lowered himself gracefully down from the crawl space.

"He's a Pirate," Nathan argued.

"A Pirate that probably just saved our asses," Vin shot back.

"Got a point," Josiah added. "If they had hit us with whatever it was that got them blown to nothing but ash, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now."

Nathan looked at each of them in disbelief. "Not that I'm one for leaving a man behind who's in need, but you ever hear of a Trojan Horse? Those other guys backed off pretty easily, a little to easy in my book. Maybe the plan was to get one of theirs on the inside all along. He could be setting us up for a trap."

"And kill a bunch of their own guys to do it?" Buck asked.

JD shrugged. "Pirates are mean bastards. They'd sacrifice some of their own to get what they wanted. I've seen it."

"There, see?" Nathan said triumphantly. "I say we move out and forget about him."

"Pick him up," Chris demanded in a soft tone, continuing before anyone else could argue. "There's still a lot of road between here and Denver. It'll go faster if we can avoid the ambush hot spots. If there's one good thing about Pirates, it's that they know the territories better than anyone else. We could use a guide."

"It'll be dangerous to trust him," Nathan tried again.

"Didn't say we would," Chris said casually and turned back to the screen. The man sat slouched back on his haunches, watching them as if patiently awaiting the outcome of the decision he somehow knew they'd be making. He ducked his head in seeming relief when Weena began to rumble towards him, but if he wasn't so far away from the camera and if the haze wasn't slightly interfering with the view, they might have seen the firelight glinting off the man's sly, gold-toothed smile…


	6. ZP Pilot Ch.6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awe, it's introductory bonding time. You might recognize a few things in this one...

 

The biker flinched back as the rig pulled up to a stop in front of him, but stayed where he was as Chris opened the door and stepped out. Ranger and Pirate stared at each other with an almost detached interest, reading one another before deciding how best to interact. It was Chris who broke the silence first, voicing his words in a completely casual manner.

"There a reason you just blew up half your crew?"

The Pirate sneered before replying, revealing himself to be a Southerner - most likely East Coast by his accent if Chris had judge. "I would hardly consider that bunch of unwashed cretins to be 'my crew'…waste of the good air they were breathing."

Chris folded his arms and leaned back against the tank. "They seemed to trust you, must've been riding with them for a while."

"Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes one must do things he is not particularly fond of in order to stay alive," he sighed. "They picked me up in Colorado Springs nearly two months ago. It was either blend in or die in a noble attempt to fight them off. Naturally, self preservation tops my list of habitual reactions to unsavory circumstances."

Chris snorted. "Slamming your bike into a bunch of Pirates carrying bombs is self preservation?"

The rider grinned back. "Calculated risk. I realized that an opportunity for escape was upon me; I merely decided to help it along."

"If we take you along, would you be planning on doing the same with us?" Chris asked, his tone turning more serious.

Green eyes glared up at him. "That wholly depends on your intentions. Am I to be your fellow traveler or your prisoner?"

"Guess that depends on  _your_ intentions, Pirate," Chris threw back at him with a grin. "Play nice and we'll get you home to Colorado Springs in one piece."

The man huffed. "That, sir, is most definitely  _not_  my home. Though not my first choice, I currently reside in Denver. A simple supply run was what led me to this… undesirable fate."

Chris's smile grew wider. "Then I'd say today fate was on your side. Denver's where we're headed; you can come along and help us out, or you can stay here and wait for your friends to come back."

"Hmmm, difficult decision, indeed," the Southerner smirked, "but I do believe Option A to be the better choice."

With a nod, Chris walked over to help the man off the ground. "Chris Larabee," he introduced himself as they grasped arms.

"Ezra Standish," the Southerner replied with a wince as he hoisted himself up. "Dare I follow that with the standard, 'pleased to make your acquaintance?'"

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," Chris shrugged and gestured towards the door with an inviting arm.

Ezra studied him for a moment more before giving him a sharp head nod and disappearing into the rig, Chris right on his heels knowing damn well that inviting this one into the bunch probably just made their trip that much more interesting.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"It's not polite to stare," Ezra grumbled without opening his eyes as he leaned back against the wall of the rig, stretched out on the seat at the table across from where Chris and Vin sat.

"I wouldn't be staring if you'd just let me take a closer look at that arm," Nathan groused, elbowing Josiah in the side slightly to stop the man from chuckling at the fact that the Doc had been caught being rude.

The Southerner cracked one eye open. "Correct me if I've been misinformed, but I don't believe that your particular degree was earned in practical medicine, Dr. Jackson."

"And I don't think any of us told you that," Nathan said warily, instantly bringing everyone's attention to the conversation.

"Ah, hell," Ezra groaned as he realized his uncharacteristic slip-up, then shrugged as he attributed the mistake to the explosion he was not nearly far enough away from. Too late to take back his words, he closed his eyes and quietly pushed forward with his explanation. His voice came out unsteady, ashamed, barely more than a whisper. "Anyone connected in any fashion to Rising knows who you are, Dr. Jackson."

JD slammed on the brakes and turned to join the others in a collective look of shock. "Did you say you're from Rising?" he asked, just to make certain he had heard the Southerner correctly.

With a sigh, and without making eye contact with any of them, Ezra gingerly slid out of the seat and stood, keeping his gaze glued to the floor. "Yes, I  _was_ working with Rising," he clarified bitterly, "but before things become physical, allow me the chance to explain that I was in no way informed of or involved with the company's alterations to the good Doctor's serum. I hope my word will be enough to dissuade you gentlemen from taking any action against my person?"

Without giving them a chance to respond or to react, he began to back towards the door quickly, nervously, like a rabbit who had suddenly found himself trying to escape a cave full of hibernating bears. Speaking softly, calmly, casually as if the sound of his voice would distract them from any thoughts of aggression while he slipped away, he offered them a little two-fingered salute and said, "Thank you, gentlemen, for taking an hour off my trek home. I hope your remaining journey sees you well."

As he shuffled past the couch, Nathan set his jaw and stood up, reaching out to grip Ezra's injured arm. Standish tensed up immediately, and Nathan saw a flash of panic in the green eyes that seemed to plead with him to let go before they settled into something slightly more unnerving - acceptance. He ignored the look for the time being, and with a quick pull that briefly sent the Southerner stumbling forward with a choked-off cry, the Doctor helped steady the man before gently prodding around the shoulder joint. "I may not be a medical doctor, but I do have to know enough about biology and anatomy to assess the health of my test subjects; and I know a dislocated shoulder when I see one. That's gonna be sore for a little while, but at least you'll be able to use it."

Ezra just blinked at him in confusion as he hesitantly tested the rotation of his arm. "…Why…?"

"Don't get me wrong, I hate the people you worked for, but just because you were from Rising doesn't mean it's right to let you suffer," Nathan responded. "Man usually can't control what his employers do, after all."

"Besides, you're no good to us if you can't fight," Chris answered, causing the Southerner to spin towards him in disbelief.

"But…when most people hear-"

Josiah smiled. "We're not 'most people,' son. Like Nathan said, you weren't the one calling the shots. We're not going to hurt you, and we're not about to kick you right back out into Pirate territory, either. What's past is past, and in more recent past you helped save our hides."

Ezra huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "I apologize, but I'm having a difficult time understanding you gentlemen. You just took a man who is presumably a Pirate into your midst only to find out he is also partially responsible for…for…what equates to the end of the world as we once knew it…and you not only wish to deny yourselves a golden opportunity to reap a little vengeance, but you actually want me to stay?"

"Way I see it," Tanner said, a gentle smile touching his eyes, "wouldn't do any good to anyone to take it out on you. Seems smarter to use you for something better, maybe help us help you be partially responsible for puttin' things back the way they were. Give you a chance at a little redemption."

At Ezra's confused look, Chris took up the conversation and explained what it was, exactly, that they were going to Denver for. It made even more sense to keep someone from Rising on board, someone who would know the ins and outs of the company building and hopefully some of its data. Ezra listened carefully and quietly, nodding as he understood the logic behind allowing him to be part of their group; and by the end of the spiel a broad grin had spread across his face.

"Well then, fate did indeed smile upon all of us today," he said. "The Rising building happens to be my place of residence, and without my present company, you wouldn't have been able to get into it."

"Why's that?" JD asked.

The Southerner flashed a wry smile in Chris's direction. "Self preservation."

He sat back down with a chuckle, and when they realized he wasn't going to explain the odd comment any further, JD set the tank in motion again. After a few minutes Buck, who had sat quietly throughout the exchange, stood and tapped Ezra on the arm, motioning for the Southerner to follow him into the back. The Ranger led Ezra into the workroom and shut the door behind them.

"He's not gonna do something like mess up that arm I just fixed, is he?" Nathan asked, his tone showing more irritation than any real concern.

"Or turn me into a liar?" Josiah added. "Told that boy we wouldn't hurt him. From the way he was acting, he's already had his fair share of that somewhere along the line."

"Nah," Chris said, shaking his head, "Buck'll just lay down some ground rules. He can be a little…overprotective sometimes."

The others looked towards the door wondering what the thus-far jovial man could be saying to the past Rising employee. They would work with Ezra, yes, but his earlier words had been spoken in truth – he had helped turn the world on its axis, brought on pure devastation, ended countless lives, and worse, all but eliminated the word "hope." Despite their efforts to put the man at ease so he'd be more inclined to help them, and knowing inside that their prejudice was wrong but difficult to fight, it would still be a long time before any of them would be willing to call him an actual friend.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Buck moved around the tense man to pull JD's stool out from under his workbench.

"Sit," he ordered, "and quit lookin' like I'm gonna bite you."

"Mr…Wilmington, was it? What-?" Ezra started, but was cut off when the Ranger shoved him down onto the seat, mindful of the injured shoulder. He shot Buck an appalled look at the manhandling and was about to protest when he was interrupted yet again.

"Shut up and take off your jacket. Got enough damn cuts on you, Diseased'll be smellin' you from miles out." He pulled an Army issue field med kit out from his bag as Ezra grudgingly complied with the order, scrunching up his face in disgust as he really took stock of the damage done to the leather and the white tee he was wearing underneath. He glanced up to see Buck staring at him with a  _get-on-with-it_ look.

"I  _am_  capable of treating myself," Ezra told him as he gingerly pulled the tattered shirt over his head. "If you would kindly hand me the-" He hissed as Buck ignored him and began the process of cleaning what looked to be worst of the scratches and scrapes.

"Just listen," the Ranger spoke as he worked. "Now I'm not the type to judge a man before I get to know him, but all them out there? They all lost people they cared about to your company's damn virus;  _I_ lost people I cared about."

"…We all did…" Ezra added, and Buck could detect a hint of guilt in his voice. In response to that, the Ranger softened his own tone a little and lightened his touch up a bit in his ministrations.

"We've lost people to Pirates, too…" he continued, shifting the conversation to the more recent concern.

Anger flashed in the Southerner's eyes. "I did not murder people, Mr. Wilmington, if that is what you're implying."

Buck stopped what he was doing and locked eyes with the newest addition to their group. "You didn't try to stop the others from killin' innocent folks, though, did you?"

Ezra turned away. "One man against so many - the efforts would have proven futile. The best I could do was ensure the suffering was kept to a minimum." A brief pained look flashed across the man's eyes before a neutral mask settled back into place. "Are we finished pointing out my various faults now, or shall I lay out my entire life story for you in case you should find something else you disapprove of?"

Buck shrugged. "Guess that depends. You keepin' any secrets that might get me or anyone else on this team killed?"

"None." Ezra answered coldly with a steady gaze.

Buck studied him for a second before nodding and going back to treating the myriad assortment of shallow wounds. "Then you do your part to help us out and we'll do ours to treat you with respect."

"And should I stray from your personally chosen path of righteousness?" Ezra asked, wincing as Buck touched on a particularly tender spot.

"You hurt them, I hurt you," Buck promised, then added, "if Chris doesn't get to you first. He does? You'll be prayin' it was me."

They both fell into a silent understanding at that: warning given and threat received. With that done and out of the way, though, it was also understood that perhaps they could now move beyond their differences and start to work as a functioning team. They would have to if they expected to survive the self-appointed task that lay ahead.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"Why are we stopping?" Ezra asked quietly as he leaned over JD. The rest of the men were in various stages of slumber sprawled around the rig either on the fold-down bed, the couch, the two bench seats at the table, and the floor. Ezra had remained up at the driver's console almost since Buck "released" him from the back room wearing one of the larger man's spare tees, which he complained about until he was told in no kind terms that if he didn't shut up about it, he was going naked. He spent the rest of the day's drive guiding them around the Pirate "hot spots."

"It's gettin' dark," JD said.

Ezra arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you built a cannon, a flame thrower, several machine guns, a radar  _and_  surveillance camera system into this…this…monstrosity, but you neglected to add lights."

The Toymaker shook his head. "Of course I have lights, I'm not stupid. I just don't like to use 'em unless I have to. They draw too much attention."

"There a problem?" Chris asked as he stood from where he dozed at the table, rubbing at a kink in his neck.

"Yes," Ezra snapped, "we've been driving for almost eight hours and we are still in Texas."

"We wouldn't still be in Texas if I didn't have to keep taking so many damn detours," JD argued. "Besides,  _you've_ been ridin' for eight hours. I've been drivin' for over twelve, and in case you didn't notice, this isn't exactly a sports car. There's a lotta things I gotta pay attention to and, honestly, I'm kinda tired."

"Then allow someone else to drive," the Southerner pushed.

"Enough," Chris scolded before the argument could get out of hand. He first turned to Ezra. "No one else knows how to drive this thing, and it'd probably take just as long for him to teach one of us as it would to let him get some sleep." Satisfied that the Rising man accepted the explanation, he turned to JD. "How safe is it to sleep out here? We need to post a watch?"

The kid snorted. "Weena's my second home outside my community back east, and I don't usually travel with people. Anything comes up on the radar, she'll let us know."

"All right, then," the dark-clad man nodded, "we camp here for the night, set out at first light. Ezra, you keep steering us clear of everything but Diseased and Hellhounds, we should make Denver by tomorrow night."

"Wonderful," Ezra deadpanned, clearly still not happy with the decision but realizing the sense in it. He stepped past Chris and reached for the door.

"Where are you going?" the Ranger asked, his voice kept low but the tone demanding an answer.

"Out," Standish replied curtly, "unless you really do intend to hold me as your prisoner?"

"If you get yourself killed-" Chris growled.

"Then I'll be dead," Ezra finished and slipped out the door into the night.

"Want me to follow 'im?" Vin asked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

The man in black shook his head. "Not putting any of you in danger to keep his stupid hide out of trouble. If he's not back by morning, we leave without him."

"What if he really is a Pirate, and he's headed out to check in with the others?" Vin speculated.

"Ah, he's fine," JD said with a yawn as he nodded towards the screens. "He's just up on the roof."

Chris looked at the little red blip that signified the position of where Standish was and mulled over Vin's concerns. "I want someone on watch," he decided.

JD sat forward. "But I just told you-"

"On him," Chris clarified. "Just make sure he stays on the radar. I'll take the first shift."

"I got second," Vin volunteered.

"Well I got last, then," JD huffed, "and can someone get Buck off my bed?"

Chris looked over at his friend who appeared to be taking up as much of the little mattress as humanly possible, and chuckled lightly. Tricking Buck to make a hasty retreat from a bed was always something the Ranger enjoyed immensely…

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Josiah sat and kept one eye on the screens while he kept the other on his sleeping...acquaintances? Comrades? Friends? He wasn't quite certain where he stood with all of them just yet, but he always was a fan of meeting new people and discovering their more interesting personality quirks. One thing he found out tonight, much to everyone's amusement, was that Buck Wilmington apparently likened himself to a regular Don Juan. A round of laughter echoed through the rig at his expense when Chris had Vin shout very loudly into the sleeping man's ear, "What are you doin' with my wife?!" which had the ladies' man tumbling right over the edge of the mattress in a surprised panic. He took the prank with mock annoyance at first, then belted out his own laughter while he slapped his fellow Ranger on the back.

The preacher wouldn't have taken Chris Larabee for the joking type upon first meeting the somber man. Something was definitely shrouding his soul, something darker than the clothes he chose to wore; but it was a relief to know he still had a touch of mischievous humor in him. It was easier to respect a man as your leader – and Josiah had no doubts that Chris had inadvertently taken up that role – if you knew he wasn't just a power-hungry drone.

The fact that the mostly soft-spoken SWAT man readily agreed to be the one to do the shouting made Josiah laugh almost as much as the prank, itself. Vin Tanner had a sorrowful past, just like the rest of them, but there was a certain boyish quality to the man that made him easy to like. There was also a deadly calm in his eyes whenever they were focusing on the mission, and especially when he was gearing for battle, that made the preacher immensely glad that Tanner was on their side.

Now Ezra was a whole different conundrum with two strikes already under his wing before he had even stepped up to bat. It didn't seem like the Pirate was in any way his dominant persona, and it appeared he wanted to do right by his involvement in Rising's world-ending mistake, but Josiah couldn't help but feel that they were only seeing whatever the Southerner wished to show. That one had a few secrets, and probably even more layers, that the preacher hoped to reach through; and hoped that what he found wouldn't add strike three.

Josiah looked over to the sleeping Toymaker and wondered what sort of influence this mismatched group of men might have on him. As long as Josiah had known him, the kid had always been fiercely independent. Far too young to be on his own when the world had fallen apart, yet old enough to do what needed to be done to survive, JD grew up with an instinct to be cautiously alone, but still some longing to be part of the right family. The preacher hoped, and somewhere inside already knew, that the rest of them were just the type of people that the kid would feel comfortable fitting in with – all just as damaged as him.

And Nathan, God bless the man, had spent the years never giving up hope on humanity. The Doc would work himself to death trying to undo the horrors that Rising had unleashed upon the Earth, the horrors that spawned from some of his own research. When Josiah had found out that he was still alive, still trying to be a champion amongst the hopeless, it was the happiest he had felt for a long time. Seeing the man still going strong brought back a spark in him that had long ago died out, and he was glad to do everything in his power to make Nathan's dream come true, even if it led to his death.

Suddenly, a loud, chiming ring came from a speaker overhead, the sound instantly snapping the others out of their dreams, and causing him to nearly jump out of his seat. He immediately turned to look at the radar screen, his brow furling at the sight of several red blips coming up behind them, and a curse escaping his lips as the one centered above them on the roof quickly began to move in the direction of the oncoming threat. Maybe he'd been wrong, Josiah thought with bitter disappointment, maybe Standish  _was_ just a Pirate after all.


	7. ZP Pilot Ch.7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little heads up, I'm doing a little extra programming work and creative writing for the interactive webseries thing I keep mentioning. It's going to be amazing! So excited! But anyway, that means I'll probably be slowing down just a tad with the updates, but not too much. I'm having too much fun with this one to let it go for too long. :)
> 
> Also, for anyone who's interested I have a link that'll take you to the teaser, cast info, behind the scenes pics, etc. for our first episode of _Match_ , the above mentioned webseries. You may want to start scoping this stuff out so you can start playing along once we get all the interactive sturffs on the site. Remember, you'll have the chance to get paid for your fics with this one! The episode is called _Seer_ , and it's one of my very favorites in the season. :)
> 
>  
> 
> <http://myteevee.tv/match/match-seer/>

"Dammit, I knew we shouldn't have trusted him," Nathan snapped.

"Chris, what do you want me to do?" JD asked, throwing himself into the driver's seat almost faster than Josiah could move his way out of it.

Chris watched the video feed for a few minutes, waiting as Ezra's form grew smaller before it disappeared in the dark shadows that the rising sun couldn't touch just yet. "Now would be a good time to follow him," he informed Vin, "but just watch. I want to know what he's up to."

"If it looks like there's gonna be trouble?" the SWAT man asked.

"Fire off a warning shot and head back. We'll take care of the mess."

Vin slipped out into the crisp morning air and followed Ezra as quickly and as quietly as possible. He kept a good distance behind the man and stuck to the shadows, using the outcropping of rock and shrubbery as cover. Standish eventually slowed to a stop and threw up a few hand signs to the converging Pirates, signals that proved he was one of them and from which gang he rode with. One of the other men, presumably the Captain of this particular group, rolled his bike a little closer and took up conversation with the Southerner. Ezra laughed at something the man said, then fired back something in return that had the rest of the group roaring. He continued socializing with the crew to the point that they were all completely relaxed, and Vin was growing uneasy with just how smoothly Standish had integrated with the group. The unease jumped to anger when the Captain pointed off to the north and Ezra nodded before pointing straight back to where the rig was parked.

"Son of a  _bitch_ ," Vin cursed as he pulled back towards the rig a little ways. He took one more glance at the still-laughing Pirates before shooting his gun to signal the warning, then tried to make his way to the shelter of the tank as quickly, but stealthily, as possible.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Ezra didn't have to feign surprise as he ducked instinctively to the sound of gunfire. Not that he was really surprised at the notion of being followed by one of the others, but he hadn't expected them to be shooting off rounds just yet. At least they hadn't been shooting at  _him_ , or so he hoped. Something told him that whoever it was probably wouldn't have missed if they had been.

"What the hell was  _that?"_  the Pirate Captain shouted, gripping a bundle of Ezra's too-loose shirt in his meaty fist.

The Southerner looked at the man, allowing his very real annoyance and anger to show through his usual mask. The Captain wouldn't realize it was directed at  _him_ and not at the man who had fired the shot. "It seems I picked up a shadow along the way. If we hurry, we can catch him before he makes it back to the vehicle." He darkened his gaze and stretched his lips in a feral smile. "And if we could keep the rodent alive, I'd very much appreciate it. I have my own special methods of dealing with rats."

The Captain couldn't help but grin evilly back at the menace in Standish's tone. With a laugh, he unwound his fingers from the cloth of the shirt, and spun his hand in the air as a signal for the crew to move out. "Scratch!" he shouted at a small man who was about to drive past on his bike. "Give 'im your ride. You can team with Rabid."

"What? Why don't  _he_  just ride in the cab?" Scratch countered, gesturing at Ezra.

"'Cause, boy, did you not hear who this man said he was?" the Captain snapped.

Scratch shook his head. "I was way in the back, sir, I couldn't hear a damn thing."

"Gentlemen, you are wasting time," Ezra said, clearly annoyed.

The Captain shoved Scratch off the bike, sneering at the smaller man as he landed hard in the dirt. "Dammit, kid, this is Mercury. If anyone can catch that little chickenshit, it's him."

Scratch's eyes went wide as he scrambled off the ground, nodded, and backtracked to where Rabid was waiting. Ezra saluted the Captain, picked up the fallen dirt bike, and mounted it smoothly before sending it rocketing towards Tanner without another word. With a smile, he mentally thanked the Pirate for choosing wisely. The bike was a fast, smooth ride, something he could definitely work with as he gunned it around some of the other slower motorcycles. He also thanked his mother for teaching him one of the cardinal rules of his trade: know when to use discretion and know when to make a name for yourself. "Mercury" had kept his ass alive, and granted him special privileges amongst the Pirate circuits more times than he could count; and hopefully this time would be his last utilizing that particular despicable persona.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Vin scoped out the terrain from his current rock cover and cursed as he realized he was out of places to hide, but he knew if he didn't keep moving that the Pirates would be on him soon. He was close enough to the tank now that he could just make out its shape in the fading darkness, but his whole team would be sitting ducks if he didn't get there fast. They wouldn't open fire on the Pirate crew with him out there, and he knew it, but he also refused to be responsible for their capture. That meant his choices were to bolt and hope he could outrun the bikes, or get killed in the process of trying. At least if he was already dead the others could feel free to start shooting wherever they damn well pleased.

Taking just a second to brace himself, he closed his eyes briefly and dove out into the open desert, fully expecting to hear the sounds of Pirate rifles being fired immediately. The lack of gunfire that followed confused him; he was certain a hail of bullets would've been surrounding by now. Instead there was just the sound of encroaching engines and the distant shouts of the men pursuing him.

 _They're_ _gonna take me alive,_ he thought, and shuddered at the memory of seeing the rotting corpses of past Pirate hostages. If he had a choice between getting turned by the Diseased or getting tortured slowly to death by Pirates, he honestly didn't know which one he'd side with.

A single shot rang out, and the resulting burn in his leg sent him tumbling to the ground. He didn't even time to  _try_  to stand back up before a circle of bikes was surrounding him, the riders sneering at him as they pointed their guns at his face. Several hands gripped him from behind, hauling him to his feet, and a single voice hissed in his ear.

"Well, well, what have we here?" that familiar Southern drawl asked. "It appears the cat has caught the mouse. You do know what cats do with mice before they eat them, don't you?"

Vin tried to pull away, but the pain in his leg coupled with the grimy hands of the other Pirates held him in place. "Ezra, you bastard! Shoulda killed you when we had the chance!"

"Yes, you should have," Standish agreed with a smirk. "Gentlemen, your prize awaits," he said, gesturing towards the rig that was now fully visible in the sun's reflecting light. "I believe I'll take this time to get better acquainted with my new toy."

Vin's gun was taken and his arms were quickly bound behind his back before the others grinned viciously and took off. The Captain rode up at the end of the group, flashing Ezra a knowing and approving smile, and shooting a scowl at the prisoner. "You gonna be okay alone with this one, Mercury?" he asked.

Vin froze at the name, recognizing it instantly, the anger in him growing even further. He was normally so good at reading people. How could he have been so wrong about Standish?

"I am perfectly capable of handling the situation alone," Ezra said coolly, a touch of mischief lighting his tone.

The Captain smirked and with a nod of his head followed his crew towards the rig. Standish waited a few beats, watching the riders before he turned and hauled Tanner towards his bike.

"Firing your gun, Mr. Tanner?" he snapped. "What sort of idiotic plan was that? You had to have known that sort of action would only result in them being on you like a pack of the preacher's Hellhounds!"

"Had to warn the others you were a filthy traitor,  _Mercury,_ " Vin growled back.

Ezra ignored the heated tone. "That's all good and well, but you should have done so more quietly. I could have stalled them for the length of time it would have required you to return to that contraption in one piece. Then you all could have gunned down those rapscallions to your hearts' content." He undid the bindings on Vin's hands and gestured towards the bike. "This isn't exactly designed to seat two grown men, but I see no other choice as I believe it would be wise for us to depart from the shooting radius of Mr. Dunne's weapons as quickly as possible."

Vin looked at the Southerner, the distrust and confusion apparent in his eyes. "Who's side are you on, Ezra?"

"My own," Standish answered back. "Now get on the bike so your merry band of do-gooders can dispose of those leeches."

More confused than ever, Vin tentatively straddled the bike, forcing himself not to pull away when Ezra offered a steadying hand to counter the injured leg. As soon as the SWAT man was seated, Standish hopped on in front and gunned the engine, spinning the bike around in a quick circle and taking off on a path that angled them away from the oncoming battle. They didn't get too far before the sounds of JD's machine guns filled the air, and Ezra turned the bike around again, bringing it to a smooth stop.

"Here," he said, handing Tanner back his weapon, much to the sharpshooter's surprise. Vin took it, hesitated for only a second, then pressed it against the Southerner's back. Ezra sighed heavily. "Mr. Tanner, you may shoot me if you wish to  _after_ the good Captain and his crew are dealt with. And preferably after we rescue the good people that he's holding back at Port."

Vin held fast to his weapon. "He's got hostages?"

"Well," Standish said casually, reaching up a hand to rub at his sore shoulder, "unless this crew recently commandeered their colors from a previous notorious Captain, then you are witnessing the demise of the Beast Masters."

This news caused Tanner to pull back his gun. "They've got kids."

"Several," Ezra grunted in disgust. "I had heard the crew was traveling in this area. When I heard the bikes I couldn't pass up the chance of possibly locating those children. I had to find out for certain before you gentlemen could gun down my intended informants."

"Did you get what you needed?" Vin asked, shoving aside the mixed feelings he was having about being on the same side of a fight with Mercury.

Ezra grinned widely, his gold tooth gleaming in the moonlight. "The messenger of the gods always does."

"Good," Vin nodded. "I shoot, you drive."

"With pleasure," Standish said with a salute, and sent the bike back into action.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"Dammit!" Chris hollered, punching the ceiling of the rig hard enough to echo the sound of Vin's gunshot. "Get ready, boys, he'll be coming in hot."

JD, Buck, and Chris all moved to take up the same weapons they were in control of in the previous firefight, leaving Nathan and Josiah anxiously watching the cameras. The stared at the single dot flitting here and there, making its way closer to the rig as a mass of other blips closed in on it.

"There he is," Nathan shot out, pointing to the video feed at the distant form of their fleeing friend just as he broke cover.

"He ain't gonna make it," Buck added, noting the oncoming men on bikes pulling up fast behind the sharpshooter.

JD looked at Chris, concern etched in his features. "Shouldn't we fire? They're gonna catch him!"

The man in black shook his head, his lips pursed together in a thin line. "We can't risk hitting him. They aren't firing at him, anyway; let's just wait and see how this plays out."

Josiah pointed to one of the riders that sped up through the group of Pirates at a reckless pace. "There's Ezra." His tone darkened. "Lord have mercy on his soul when I get my hands on him."

They watched Vin go down, and hands tightened to white-knuckled grips on their weapons. Toymaker, who's survival in the tank depended on his ability to be able to watch all the screens almost simultaneously, was the only one who caught Ezra turn towards the Pirate who had taken the shot at Tanner, and the partial appearance of a gun being slipped out of the Southerner's boot before he seemed to think better of shooting the culprit; instead, he pushed the gun back into hiding as he slipped the bike to the inside of the circle closest to Vin.

"Don't shoot Ez," JD blurted out, seeing the scowls deepen on the other men's faces as they watched Standish manhandle the sharpshooter.

Buck shook his head. "Oh, I wasn't gonna shoot 'im. I can think of better ways to take care of a traitor."

"No, no!" JD nearly shouted. "I meant he's not one of the bad guys. Look at him!"

Everyone but Chris immediately went on the attack, taking out their frustration and fear on the kid who dared stand up for a man who just sold them out. The arguments ceased immediately, though, when their designated leader held up his hand. Chris directed their attention back to the screens in time for them to see Ezra shooing the other bikers towards the rig.

"As soon as Tanner's in the clear, take those bastards out," he ordered through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving the screen. He wished somehow the cameras could read sound from that distance as Ezra and Vin seemed to argue about something – most likely the Southerner's unpredictable behavior – before the sharpshooter awkwardly climbed onto the bike. The second that Ezra jumped up in front of him and drove them both in the direction of safety, Chris gave the order to fire.

The Pirates never knew what hit them.

JD blasted a portion of the group into oblivion with the canon and whooped in triumph, but not in regards to the number of Pirates he had just taken out with one shot. "Told you Ez was one of the good guys! These clowns didn't have a clue what he just sent them after!"

"Straight to their deliverance into Hell," Josiah concurred, his eyes lighting up at the arrival of several new, blue blips on the edge of the radar screen.

"Uh oh," JD mumbled to himself, then addressed the rest of them in a louder tone. "Um, looks like we drew some extra attention."

Nathan watched as the blue dots moved closer and seemed to multiply in number. "Are those what I think they are?"

"Diseased," JD, Chris, and Josiah answered simultaneously as they continued to fire on the Pirates.

The Toymaker shook his head. "At this rate, we're gonna run outta ammo taking care of the living guys before we can get to the dead ones."

The preacher grinned and pushed away from the console. "Then if you boys want to clear a path, maybe brother Nate and I can be a little more useful."

Buck glanced up at the doctor. "Is he serious?"

"Yep," was all the reply Nathan gave before he, too, stepped back and moved to strap his blades back onto his arms.

"The two of you can't go against that many alone," Chris argued.

"Oh, they won't be alone," JD smirked. "Preacher's got an army of angels backing him up."

"Archangels," Josiah corrected as he headed to the rig's storage room, Nathan right on his heels.

"What the hell does  _that_ mean?" Buck asked.

JD's grin grew wider. "You'll see," he said as he brought his focus back the fight with the Pirates. "But first we gotta thin out this crowd some."

Buck and Chris glanced at each other as JD turned back to his guns, his smile becoming almost wicked. Whatever was going on, they knew they wouldn't want to miss it.


	8. ZP Pilot Ch.8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? That didn't take too long, lol.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know me, you've probably already figured out (or will assume shortly) that Ezra is my favorite of the boys. I've been putting a lot of focus on him in these past couple chapters more to establish his character, though, rather than because of my favoritism towards him (he always has to go and be the complicated one, doesn't he? Lol!). I'm aiming to spend a lot of time on each character so I can establish the details of who they are and where they came from. That way once I'm through with this pilot story there'll be enough to go off of for anyone that wants to play in this sandbox. Anything that I don't specifically establish will be open to interpretation by anyone who wants to take a pass at writing in this AU.
> 
> That being said, I'm also finding that JD has been taking up a lot of my attention. That's funny to me because while I love all the boys, JD has never been a very prominent character in any of my other M7 fics. He has his moments, but he's never been a lead to me. This Steampunk/violently jaded/fiercely independent/snarky version of JD that I've created? I adore him! I didn't even really so much invent character traits in him, though, but rather just took little snippets of personality that peaked through in the show here and there and expanded on those that would be useful to his survival in this world. The only thing I really made up was his whole being a total engineering genius, but even that was pulled from his ATF persona in which he's a tech/computer genius. It took combining all those little pieces that we've already seen in his character and pushing them all to the surface to get him to stand out to me as a favorite, which I find fascinating. Funny how that works sometimes, lol. But, yeah, admittedly you'll probably see a lot of focus on Toymaker just because he became an accidental favorite as I've been going along. :)
> 
> At some point I'll be writing up a whole summary/guideline thing so it'll be easier to keep track of the settings/heroes/villains/"rules" of this universe. That'll be for my own sake as much as for the sake of any future writers. Inventing a full on, complex, detailed AU is hard! But totally fun. :)

"Geezus, Ez, watch your drivin'," Vin exclaimed as he quickly dropped his aim in order to grip the Southerner's arm. Ezra had just made a rather abrupt turn, causing the sniper to nearly fall off the bike.

"Well if you wouldn't insist on holding to the ridiculous notion that you shouldn't shoot anyone in the back, I wouldn't have to keep turning us around to face the enemy head on. You were a police sniper, were you not? Did you never have to fire at the back of anyone's head through a window?" Ezra snapped, irritated at the man's strong sense of honor.

Vin fired off another steady shot, knocking another attacking Pirate to the ground. "Only if I absolutely had to. Here I don't have to."

Ezra frowned, then smirked as he purposely twisted the bike again in the opposite direction. Vin cursed as he had to grasp the back of Ezra's shirt, losing a chance at a clear shot. Without waiting for the question, Ezra explained, "I'm swinging around the other side of the rig. It appears Mr. Larabee and the others have the situation well under control over here, and I'm certain I saw some of our good Captain's crew split off to form an ambush of sorts from up the hill."

Vin mumbled something under his breath that got lost in the wind whipping past them, but otherwise voiced no complaints. Continuing to remain well outside the range of the tank's more devastating weapons, Ezra pulled up short when they crested the small hill and looked down at the scene before them.

"Holy shit," Vin whispered out.

"Indeed," Ezra concurred.

Expecting to come across the missing group of Pirates, they were not disappointed to find them. It was the state they were in that had Vin and Ezra so surprised - bikes toppled over with a few of the men still doing their best to ward off the danger, the living were quickly succumbing to the scrambling nails and gnashing teeth of the Undead. The horde of Diseased that had appeared out of nowhere was growing by the minute as stragglers shuffled across the desert ground to join the massacre. The majority were focused on the victims right in front of them, while another mass of them were headed over the ridge towards the rig, the noise drawing their attention like flies to a carcass.

"This is bad," Vin stated.

Ezra eyed the carnage with disgust. "That, sir, is an understatement."

**_~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~_ **

With curiosity now added to the mix of driving motivators, Chris and Buck equally doubled their efforts to cut through the gang of desert thieves. The preacher hadn't mentioned what types of weapons he carried in his bags before, but now it looked like they were about to find out; and by the slight twinkle in the eyes of the Toymaker, they figured they were in for a surprise.

Buck risked glancing back up as Josiah and Nathan came back out of the workroom. The preacher's hands were now encased in golden gauntlets that sported metal boxes attached to the tops of the metal gloves. With a smile, Josiah moved closer so Buck and Chris could see the intricate images carved into the sides of the boxes. The left had etchings of angelic children caught forever in what looked to be a rowdy game of tag circling around the sides and back of the box. The front of the box had four holes spaced above each of the large man's knuckles, and when he looked inside, Buck could just make out four miniature golden cherubs nestled neatly within. Josiah held out the other hand to showcase the musical notes floating around the completely solid box on that glove, and the wires that ran from within it to each finger.

"Metatron," Josiah said by way of introducing the left-handed weapon, "and Sandalphon," he finished, holding up the right. At Buck's continued confused expression the preacher simply laughed and shook his head. "Twin brothers, the guardian of children and the angel of music. Together they make a pretty deadly pair."

"And this," Nathan grinned, holding up what looked like a large golden metal cross, only the adjoining pieces were sculpted into the shapes of two scrolls laying one over the top of the other, one of them short and fat, the other long and narrow "is Uriel."

"What the hell do they do?" Buck asked, keeping one eye on the screens as he continued to help make quick work of the Pirates who were still within range.

JD rolled his eyes, but chuckled despite the annoyed look. "It'll be easier to show you. I think we got a path cleared for you guys if you wanna go for it."

Josiah looked to Nathan. "Ready for this, brother? It's been a long time since we fought side by side."

Nathan smiled back. "Like riding a bike. I've  _been_ ready." He slapped his hand on the bottom of the fat scroll, and the sound of something loading into a chamber echoed through the rig. Without another word, he stepped out of the safety of the tank first, Josiah following on his heels.

Buck watched them on the screen as they quickly made their way up the hill, disappearing over the top to dash towards the ambling masses of Diseased. "Those two look too happy to be runnin' off to battle." He shook his head. "Like kids gettin' to the gates of old Disneyland."

"Well, they did pick the fun toys," JD shrugged with an unworried tone.

Chris smirked. If JD considered head-exploding rounds and the flamethrower on the front of his precious Weena to be the "boring" toys, his curiosity shot up at the concept of what the kid thought of as "fun." He decided to try to step up the efforts of ridding themselves of the Pirate nuisance. The opportunity to get to see more of Toymaker's odd weapons in action was too intriguing to pass up.

**_~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~_ **

Vin looked back down towards the tank and his eyes grew wide as he made out two forms exiting the vehicle heading straight towards the Undead invasion.

"What the hell?" he started.

Ezra turned to see what his companion was staring at, his breath catching as he realized what the two men were aiming to do.

"Mr. Tanner, what are your qualms about shooting Diseased in the back?" he asked.

"None," Vin said sternly, reaching for one of the clips of specialized bullets that he had kept in the side pocket of his cargo pants.

"Good," the Southerner replied and gunned the bike down towards the horde, intent on at least evening the odds a little for his new traveling companions. He veered towards the stragglers, first, the ones that were making their way up the hill to presumably make even more of a mess of the fight for JD's rig, and jumped slightly at the sight of one of their heads exploding clean off its body upon Tanner taking his first shot.

Vin chuckled softly behind him. "Chris and I had pretty much the same reaction," he confessed as he downed yet another of the Undead. "Special rounds courtesy of the Toymaker."

Ezra shook his head, impressed and still more than a little shocked at the ease in which the sniper was mowing through the horde with nothing more than a handgun. "Remind me to ask him for some when we get back."

_When we get back._

Vin bit his lip, forcing himself to focus on the more dangerous enemy at the moment, but once this was all said and done? He wasn't certain if it would be a good idea to even  _let_  Ezra go back to the rig. At the moment he found himself in an "enemy of my enemy" situation, because if Ezra really was Mercury, then he was most definitely an enemy to their team. Mercury had quickly become a name to be wary of when encountering those in the Pirate circuit, and he'd ridden the ranks so easily not just because he was rumored to be naturally quick, ruthless, and always able to get what he wanted, but because his name was already known before Pirates had even become a real threat in their world.

Why?

Because the name "Mercury" had flown through the nations as the scapegoat for everything that was now wrong with the Earth. It was Mercury who'd been on point in the raid against the Higher Hopes Foundation. It was Mercury who had gotten his men inside to steal the vaccine that would later become a deadly virus under Rising's experimentations. It was Mercury who had brought about the destruction of the entire planet.

Mercury was a name to be revered and respected in the criminal world, a god who had brought about a rise in power to those who would never have found it in a once-lawful system. To everyone else, the decent people who were still left in the world just trying to survive, he was Public Enemy Number One, the only one remaining of the Rising bastards who were to blame for the fall of the human race.

And Vin Tanner, dedicated S.W.A.T. sniper sworn to protect the innocent, was currently riding as his partner.

"Are you really Mercury?" he couldn't help but ask as he swung his gun over Ezra's shoulder to take another shot. Another target struck, another enemy down.

Standish flinched at the sound and heat of the bang as it fired off a little too close to his ear for comfort. "Now is hardly the time to discuss that, Mr. Tanner," he shouted in return.

Vin was forced to drop his aim as the bike took another sharp turn, the Southerner expertly whipping it back around for another pass at the Infected who were peeling away from the horde.

"Are you really  _Mercury_?" he repeated, his tone demanding an answer this time.

"Yes and no. I'll explain once we're through," Standish responded. "Now would you please focus on the task at hand? Your associates are nearly here."

Turning back to where he'd seen Josiah and Nate cresting over the hill, his eyes went wide as the Doc lifted up what sort of looked like a golden torpedo launcher by the way he was holding it. Sort of. He aimed it at one of the Undead that had slipped past Vin's gun and pulled back on the adjoining lever-thing that crossed over the weapon's barrel. An impossibly bright ball of fire shot out of the end of the launcher with alarming speed, hitting its victim almost faster than Vin could trace the fireball's trajectory and instantly engulfing the Diseased in white-hot flame. The thing let out a piercing screech before it practically crumbled to ash right in front of their eyes.

"...the hell?" Tanner uttered, then quickly shook his head. Toymaker. That kid was a genius.

**_~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~_ **

"Nice shot, brother," Josiah complimented. "May the rest of these poor souls be sent to rest just as quickly."

Taking a step away from Nathan's side so the good doctor could continue to do his thing, Josiah took a few moments to better assess the situation. There were more of the Undead than he had thought, the blue blips on the radar screen having bled together to prevent them from getting an accurate count. That might've worried him had he not spotted Tanner and Standish doing their part from the bike, lifting that weight off his shoulders in regards to Ezra's potential "strike three." He was an enigma, that much was for certain, but at least for the time being he seemed to be fighting on their side. Once on the battlefield, that was all that really mattered. They needed all the allies they could get.

Within a count of four seconds he watched as three more of the Diseased dropped to the mercy of the sniper's gun, and two more go up in flames thanks to Uriel's blessed flames. Without fear he strolled along towards the bulk of the horde, ignoring the occasional Infected that wandered his way, trusting that his teammates would take care of any of them. His angels were better utilized against larger numbers, after all, no need to waste them on those who broke away from the herd.

When he felt close enough to the mass of groaning Undead who were still fighting over the carcasses of the unfortunate Pirates who had fallen to their numbers, yet far enough away to make a break for it once they all turned their attention onto him (which they would soon enough), Josiah lifted up his right arm and clenched his fist, pulling on all four of the knuckle rings that triggered Sandalphon's music box. The top of the box popped up, and four thin metal musical notes sprang out around the edges. Smiling, Josiah lifted his left arm and aimed Metatron's cherubs at the Undead.

"Sing us a song, Sandalphon, so the angels can dance," he whispered, and pulled on the finger cords one at a time. Different musical notes chimed from the box, and for each note that rang out, one of the cherubs sprang from Metatron's casing. They flew towards the horde, each one of them trailing behind it a wire so thin that it was nearly invisible. With practiced ease, Josiah worked the fingers on his right hand over a keyboard that wasn't there, the tunes he played serving as directions to guide the angels where he wanted them to go, the metallic notes sticking out of Sandalphon's box acting as antenna to send the messages along. JD explained that it was just like flying a remote control plane, only cooler because his controller played music whenever it sent out a command. Did the cherubs need the music to follow the radio signals? No, but the person controlling them did. Its main purpose was to help Josiah know which angel was being given which order, making it possible for him to be precise with all four at the same time by utilizing his ear for music. That was what made the Toymaker's weapons so spectacular - when JD designed them, he designed them with an individual's talents in mind. While other people could certainly use the Archangels, there was no doubt that they were Josiah's babies.

His fingers thrummed out a pretty little tune, a song that sounded much too lighthearted for the effect that it had on the Diseased. The cherubs each found a target, a neck to wind their razor wire around, and turned to come back to Metatron at Sandalphon's call. As they flew towards their casing, the wires tightened and sliced through rotting flesh with the ease of a hot knife going through butter, only catching slightly between the spine's vertebrae before cleanly severing the heads. Four angels flew and four bodies dropped to the ground with a dull thud before Josiah caught the little cherubs back up in their casing.

"Good boys," he smiled, his eyes darting up at those of the Undead who were now  _very_  interested in his presence there. "Wanna go again?"

The little angels grinned back at him with their painted-on innocence, seemingly eager for another round. Who was he to deny them their games?

**_~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~_ **

"Dammit, I can't see a damn thing!" Buck complained as he gunned down another Pirate. They were growing fewer in numbers, and while JD had managed to roll Weena a little closer to the hill that Nathan and Josiah had disappeared over, they still weren't at a good angle to get any feed from the video camera. All they had to go by was the radar to know that their teammates were still alive, four red dots moving amidst a sea of blue ones. By the way the blue dots were vanishing off the screen it was clear that the boys didn't seem to be having any trouble, which only made Buck that much more antsy to see what the hell was going on.

JD fired off another round from the cannon up top, and finally the tank lurched forward enough for the camera to catch the battle feed. There was a moment when both Buck and Chris held their fire on the Pirates, Buck's mouth dropping open slightly and Chris's eyes squinting in discreet awe at the dance that men were doing around the Undead. That's exactly what it looked like to him, a well-choreographed dance with Josiah practically spinning in circles on his feet with his arms raised in the air, the Diseased dropping headless all around him, Nathan firing off white fire in a steady rhythm that lit up members of the horde like some sort of finale on the 4th of July, and Vin and Ezra darting in and out on their bike like a rabid bee in flight, their sting proving instantly deadly to any Infected they chose to target.

The kid was right, the boys down the hill were having  _way_  more fun than they were from inside the tank.

"Let's finish these guys off so we can join those idiots," he muttered, and doubled his efforts on ridding the country of one more Pirate crew. There weren't that many left, so few that he was frankly surprised they were still coming at them. He shot down one more before finally the Captain held up his hand in a fist, a signal for his people to fall back. It was about damn time.

"I got 'em," JD said, and aimed the cannon at the scattered bikers that were trying to group back up.

Chris dropped his hand down onto the Toymaker's, preventing him from maneuvering the weapon any further towards the retreating enemy.

"It's over, JD. Let 'em go," he ordered quietly.

If looks could kill, the one on the kid's face would've murdered every living thing for miles around. "If we don't get rid of 'em now, they'll come back later. They  _always_  come back. They're roaches."

"And we're not exterminators," the man in black argued forcefully. "Not executioners, either. If they come back at us or we see them hurting anybody else, we'll deal with them. Right now there aren't enough of them left to be a threat. Without their numbers the hordes'll probably get to them before they can regroup with another crew, anyway. Let it go."

JD held his glare for several long seconds before he wrenched his hand out from under Chris's and slapped his palm hard against the console in frustration. If he had anything else to say about it, he kept it to himself as he gritted his teeth and pushed the control stick forward to send the rig down the hill, missing the look that Chris shared with Buck. It was one of concern both for the kid, seemingly too young to be influenced by that level of bloodlust for his fellow humans, and concern for how his attitude might effect the rest of the team. An unspoken agreement passed between the two of them in which they would make it a point to watch over their young companion, preventing him from becoming a potential danger to himself, as well as to them. Whatever demons had forced the kid to turn out the way that he had, they'd work through them together.

Trying to lighten the mood a little, Buck whistled as Nathan took out two more of the Infected with his fireball-shooting cross. "How many Archangels are there again?" he asked.

The question had the desired effect as a smile returned to JD's face. "Josiah said lots depending on your faith. When I'm done building 'em he'll have fifteen."

"Damn," Buck huffed. "Fifteen weapons? Like that? What does one man need that kind of firepower for?"

With a laugh, JD could only shake his head. "I said the preacher was a little off his rocker. I just know that when he asks me for something, I always have a lot of fun makin' it."

They watched as Josiah sent another four Diseased to their permanent graves, a giddy smile on his face as he appeared to be posing as conductor to an invisible orchestra. A Pirate who had worked for Rising, a young genius with a penchant for violence, and a preacher whose mind didn't appear to be fully intact - and those were just the downfalls that they'd  _seen_  of their teammates so far. Chris wondered what he might have to look out for in the sniper and the doc, and mentally braced himself for the challenge he had somehow put himself up to.

Well, at least he still had Buck.

"Hey, JD," his friend was saying. "Can you make me a...I don't know...like a three-barrel machine gun that shoots in three different directions at the same time? What would the kickback on something like that feel like? Nah, maybe not. Something like that would probably be too hard to control. What if it only had two barrels?"

Then again, maybe not, Chris smirked. Yep, his life was about to get very challenging, indeed.


	9. ZP Pilot Ch.9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an update!
> 
> (Sorry this took a while, been busy! Chapter 10 is already partially written so hopefully that'll come a little faster.)
> 
> Thank you to my betas and my commenters and all my readers!

"I'm out," Vin alerted as his gun fired the last of his special rounds.

Ezra wheeled the bike away from the thinning horde, glancing up at the sound of the tank rolling its way over the ridge. "Impeccable timing," he stated as he took himself and Tanner out of the battle.

"I still have regular rounds," Vin informed him, but Standish kept the bike going in the opposite direction.

"No need. I'm sure your friends can handle the rest," he said.

Vin didn't argue. As much as he preferred to help out when he could, he realized that spending his rounds needlessly would help no one. Why waste several bullets on just one of the Infected when Weena could take out several of them with just one shot of her cannon? Besides, Josiah and Nathan were making quick enough work of the horde without his assistance.

Taking that moment to let his guard down a little, he finally had a chance to inspect the bullet wound in his leg. It wasn't terrible, just a graze that clipped out a chunk of flesh from his thigh, but it would be enough to hinder his movement for the next week, most likely. That meant anymore shooting would have to be done stationary, and most likely from a distance. The thought made him smirk. He was better at that, anyway.

The grin was wiped off his face when he looked up to realize that Ezra wasn't doubling back around towards the rig. Vin was being whisked away into the desert by Mercury, the Pirate's own personal package delivery man, and they had just theoretically confirmed that there was a camp somewhere north of their location. His first instinct was to get himself out of the situation, to force Standish to turn them around at gunpoint, but his hand stalled on his weapon. Ezra knew damn well that he could be shot at pointblank range at any time, but didn't seem at all concerned about the risk. That probably meant he wasn't actually planning on doing anything stupid, at least not at the moment.

"Where are we goin'?" Tanner asked, doing his best not to sound overly suspicious.

Ezra stayed quiet as he rolled the bike around the other side of a rock outcropping and killed the engine, planting down one foot to keep them from toppling over and forcing Vin to do the same (on his good side, Vin noted). The Southerner then paused for a moment, keeping his head ducked as he finally decided to speak.

"Mr. Tanner, if I were to ask you for your discretion in a rather sensitive matter, could I count on you to maintain it?" he asked.

"You askin' if I can keep a secret?" Vin clarified, to which Ezra merely nodded. "If this is about you bein' Mercury I can't make any promises, but I'm willin' to hear you out."

"Fair enough," Standish replied, and dove into an explanation full of his long words and odd manner of speaking. Vin followed along as best he could and wondered if the Southerner spoke that way due to his upbringing, or if maybe it wasn't some sort of unconscious defense mechanism to keep people a little off kilter. It was probably both.

From what Vin could gather (and if Ezra was speaking the truth), he was not  _the_  Mercury, the one who had lead Rising's thieves straight into the end of the world. He had merely adapted the pseudonym when he'd been caught up by the Pirates as a bargaining chip to keep himself alive and out of the hostage camps. He'd convinced them that he was who he said he was simply due to his inside information about the Rising corp as a former employee, and by pulling a little slight-of-hand maneuver on the Captain of the first crew he'd ridden with.

"I was not exactly born into wealth," he confessed. "As such, my mother tutored me in...other means of survival."

With a sly smirk, he held up Vin's watch that he'd somehow managed to slide off the sniper's wrist without him even noticing. Tanner took it back, admittedly impressed by the little trick. It wasn't easy to catch him off guard, having had a somewhat similar upbringing to Ezra's. It seemed like they'd both come from the wrong side of tracks, the side where a person had to watch their own backs if they ever hoped to make their way out of it some day.

"In so far as the rumors go surrounding the notorious reputation of Mercury the Pirate," Ezra continued, "keep in mind that the whole principle behind the art of slight-of-hand is to keep the intended victim guessing, and to focus their attention elsewhere. Nothing is ever quite as it seems." He let out a heavy sigh at that. "Unfortunately my ruse to keep the Pirates convinced that I was who I claimed to be did nothing for my reputation within the social circles of what remains of the general populous. All I can offer is my word that I am not nearly as devious as my namesake proceeds, and while I'm trusting that my word may be good enough for you, I highly doubt that it will be good enough for everyone. I value my head on my shoulders where it belongs, Mr. Tanner. I assume you can understand that?"

Vin inhaled a slow breath, debating on what he should do. He'd only known this man for a day, and though the Southerner had done nothing but help the team since they'd brought him on board, it was still difficult to be asked to so blindly trust his word. Ezra was right, the reputation he'd made for himself was definitely not one to easily forget about. What was true and what was not could never really be proven, not unless a witness stepped forward to make claims one way or the other.

On the other hand, he hadn't known any of his other traveling companions for more than a couple of days, either. Dr. Jackson had a reputation of his own of being a kind and passionate soul, something that Vin had definitely already witnessed. He was brave and truthful, and his ongoing quest to save humanity was nothing short of noble. The Toymaker was known worldwide for his inventions, but other than that he was a complete enigma. If anyone had told Tanner before now that JD was just a kid he'd have laughed in their faces. As far as Chris and Buck went, it was hard for Vin not to automatically want to put his trust in them. They were ex-Rangers, after all, and though Vin had seen more than a few military men turn nothing short of evil over the past few years, he knew right away that these two men were on the same side of the moral line as he was. There was something about Chris, in particular, that Vin felt...in tune with, was the best way that he could describe it. It was probably because the man reminded him a little of his captain back in SWAT, someone that demanded respect but who knew how to lead with a quiet demeanor. As far as Josiah went, well, it was just easy to get along with a preacher who was actually open about other people's different belief systems. Plus, Nate and JD had both vouched for the man.

Still, did Vin really owe them anything more than he owed Ezra at the moment? He didn't  _think_  that they'd tie him up and hand him off to the first Marshal they came across, but he also couldn't be positive that they wouldn't. Mercury was a wanted man for far more reasons than one, and the Marshals' system of justice in that day and age wasn't exactly fair if a criminal was brought in to the wrong settlement. Ezra could be shot right there on the spot without a chance to even defend himself.

"I need an answer, Mr. Tanner," Standish prompted. "Feel free to say no, but if that is indeed the case, my aim is to leave you here behind these rocks for your companions to find you. I trust that you won't shoot me in the back as I make my escape."

He'd leave him. Ezra would leave him alive to potentially serve as witness against him later, someone who knew him and could easily point him out in a crowd. Vin knew his full name, knew where he lived, knew that he'd been an employee of Rising. If that wasn't convincing enough, then he didn't know what would be.

...If all of that information was true, anyway, but something in his gut told him that it was, and Vin had always been an advocate for trusting his instincts.

"Well, in that case," he grinned, "better keep my mouth shut. I don't want to waste a bullet signaling the boys over, and I sure as hell ain't walkin' all the way back over there."

Ezra smiled back. "Wise decision. Then our camouflaged chariot awaits, Mr. Tanner."

Without another word, Standish gunned the bike back into motion and sped around the rocks so he could approach the tank from the back, well out of range of its weapons. It seemed that Josiah and Nate were falling back, as well, having held up their end of thinning out the enemy numbers. From there on out, it would be up to Weena's guns to pick off the rest.

_**~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~** _

Chris had watched as Ezra sped off with Vin on the back of the bike, and for a moment was torn between telling JD to go after them or to continue on ahead as backup for Josiah and Nate. Logic kicked him in the ass quickly enough, though, and he kept his mouth shut as he fired off a round that wouldn't hit too close to where his team members on the ground were still fighting. It was the doc that they needed to keep alive more than anyone else. Whenever a choice had to be made it would always favor on the side of Nathan Jackson, the one man who held the future of their world in his grasp. Not that Chris considered anybody else to be readily expendable, but he had to think beyond his personal feelings. The whole of humanity was at stake, after all.

...Which probably meant that letting Dr. Jackson run off to play with the questionably sane preacher in a game of zombie tag might not have been the best idea he'd ever had. Then again, who was Chris to deny a man the need to defend himself, and maybe exercise a few demons along the way? Nathan had been doing just fine on his own long before Larabee had entered the picture. If he wanted to fight, let him fight. It was simply Chris's new job to watch his back.

It wasn't long before Josiah and Nate recognized that things would go a lot faster if they just stepped out of the way and let the more destructive weapons of the tank do their thing. Carefully, they fell to either side of the horde's main bulk before working their way back to the rig. Soon after that, Ezra's bike reappeared with Tanner still in tow, eliciting an inner sigh of relief from the concerned Ranger. Everyone was still there, alive and relatively uninjured, which was a small miracle in that day and age when a group of people encountered not only Pirates, but also an Infected horde. Casualties were unfortunately the norm in their world.

JD stopped the tank from rolling forward as Ezra pulled up in front of it and waited for him to open the door. Chris and Buck continued their assault with the guns that had appeared out of the panels at the sides of the vehicle, providing cover for the four men left outside.

"Easy," Josiah's voice rumbled out as he helped Tanner dismount from the bike. "I've got you, son. No need to put any weight on that leg."

JD, eager to help, hopped out of the rig and stood in front of the others, his guns ready and waiting to be fired should any of the Diseased amble too close as they got inside. Nate and Josiah got Vin loaded in first, the three of them sharing idiotic grins with Chris and Buck as they passed them by and headed straight to the workspace in the back, which had apparently now been dubbed the makeshift mobile clinic. Ezra hung back for a minute, seeming to mull over something as he stood with his hands still gripping the handles of the bike.

"Somethin' wrong?" JD asked over his shoulder, still keeping his eyes trained on the enemy.

Ezra smirked. "I was just thinking what a shame it would be to leave this lovely piece of machinery behind. As it would be impossible to fit it into your...contraption-"

"She's not a contraption," JD protested.

Standish ducked his head in apology. "No offense intended. In all due respect to your engineering talents, I'd still rather hang onto the bike if there are no objections. It may prove useful in future endeavors. Besides, it's a little too cramped in there for my personal taste."

It was then that Chris stuck his head out of the door to interject. "JD, get back in the rig so we can get out of here. Ez, you lead, we follow. Make it fast. We're wasting ammo."

With a nod from JD and a small salute from Ezra, the team hurried back into motion, their only goal being to escape the danger zone more than anything else. Any of the Diseased that were left were free to continue their aimless wanderings through the desert where hopefully there wouldn't be any more human victims nearby.

_**~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~ZP~** _

"Ow, dammit!" Vin cursed as Nathan set about cleaning the bullet wound. "Have you done this before?"

Nathan shrugged. "Once or twice. Had a few friends run into Pirates and Poachers here and there, but like Ezra said, this kind of doctoring isn't exactly my specialty."

Josiah laughed. "I can fetch Chris or Buck if you'd prefer."

Tanner swatted Nathan's hands away and nodded his head. "Think I'd prefer that, yeah. They've at least had actual field training. Besides, I need to talk to Chris. No offense, Nate."

"None taken," he smiled, and seemed all too happy to let someone else step in. He could describe in detail exactly what muscle in Vin's thigh had been torn into, and what sort of damage had been done to what cluster of veins, but it didn't mean he wanted to be sewing it all up. Running tests and monitoring results on a man that required little more than a quick injection was vastly different than having to physically put a man back together. He was capable of doing it to some degree, sure, but he'd prefer not to. If Vin got an infection from his wound,  _that_  was something he'd more readily deal with. Viruses and bacteria, cures and diseases, those were the aspects of medicine that he could wholeheartedly dive into. Of course, now being part of a team of people, he had the distinct feeling that his role as a doctor was about to shift whether he wanted it to or not.

The door opened and Chris stepped into the room, giving a little nod to Nate before his focus flipped over to where the doc was holding some dressing against the wound.

"Bad?" he asked.

Nathan shook his head. "Deep enough to need stitches, but it shouldn't keep him down for too long."

Chris smiled as he reached for one of his bags. "Won't need stitches. I still have a stash of medical glue for emergencies."

That news brought a relieved smile to both Nathan and Vin's faces. Though adhesives had once replaced sutures in hospitals years ago, it wasn't long before the world ran out of its supply. Nathan hadn't seen a bottle of it in ages, which sparked an idea in his head.

"Chris, would you mind if I kept some of that? I might be able improvise something similar with what's still out there if I can get the formula right."

"All yours," Larabee answered as he handed a small tube to the doc, then set about inspecting Tanner's injury. "Might want to ask Ez next time we stop if he knows anything about the leftovers at Rising. There's probably plenty there you can use."

"Next time we stop?" Nate asked, confused.

"He's riding ahead, said he didn't want to lose the bike," Chris answered, and glanced up at Vin. "That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

The SWAT man shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on your definition of a problem. If ya don't mind raiding the Beast Master camp to free some hostages, it's not a problem at all."

Chris cursed and pressed the dressing back against the wound. "Hold that," he growled and made his way to the front of the tank where his fellow Ranger had gone back to bugging the Toymaker about potential future weapons. Chris rolled his eyes before spouting out orders. "Buck, go patch up Tanner. JD, give me the mic."

"What's goin' on?" the kid asked.

Chris didn't answer, instead holding the loud speaker mic up to his mouth with an irritated scowl on his face. "Ezra!" he practically shouted, and felt a tiny bit of pleasure at seeing the man swerve slightly at the sudden calling of his name. "Get your ass back here right now!"

He waited. For a moment he thought that the man might ignore him as he kept his bike running ahead at a steady pace. There was another moment when Chris thought the Southerner might flee entirely as he gunned forward several feet, then seemed to change his mind for whatever reason. He let the bike come to a slow, rolling stop, then waited patiently for the rig to pull up behind him.

"Yes, Mr. Larabee?" he asked over his shoulder as Chris popped the door open.

Not taking any chances, Chris hopped out and strolled around the bike, putting himself directly in front of it. He made a casual show of leaning his hand against the center of the handlebars, an obvious sign that he wasn't about to let the ex-Pirate take off on him.

"Were you planning on telling us about the Pirate camp, or were you just going to ride us in there as surprise backup?" he asked.

Standish grinned, and if he wasn't mistaken, Chris could've sworn there was a touch of relief in that smile. Edgy little bastard, but he supposed that wasn't so unusual in their world, especially for a man who had come from Rising.

"I had assumed Mr. Tanner would fill you in on the details," he explained. "Apparently, he did."

"I got the cliff notes," Chris admitted. "Not nearly enough. Come inside so we can hash this out. I don't want to go in without an attack strategy."

Ezra blinked away a look that could almost be described as "surprised," but it was gone so fast that Chris wasn't even certain he had seen it. Just the same, the Southerner kicked the bike stand down and slid off, gesturing for the Ranger to lead the way. Chris did so, confident now that the man would follow and almost feeling as if he was in the process of gaining the trust of a feral cat. It was going to be touch and go with this one for a little while, but he had a feeling that it'd be worth it in the end.


	10. ZP Pilot Ch.10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit 'o calm before the storm. I'll be updating the bible following this just to keep things all current with new infos. :)
> 
> Speaking of, got some reviews over on FFN on that one and I wanted to address a couple comments/questions. Yes, I labeled Vin as having blonde hair. I didn't mean super light blonde like Chris's. There were several scenes in the M7 show where when the sunlight hits his hair just right it looks more bleached-out, dirty blonde. I happen to like that look, so that's what I wanted for this universe. It's a character, not actually Eric Close. Eric has brown hair. My version of Vin has dirty blonde. I altered the bible to portray "dirty blonde" instead of just blonde so there wouldn't be future confusion. 
> 
> As far as Ezra being the motorbike guy and not Vin? Again, this is an entirely new universe with new rules and new versions of the characters that are as I see them in my head. I pull a lot of inspiration from the original show, from ATF, and other universes that I enjoy (the Shadowrun universe, for example), but this is ultimately my creation. There is a very good reason for Ezra being the fast, spry, acrobatic, rather athletic one of the group. I just haven't gotten there yet, lol. Regardless, I did warn in the beginning that you all were going to see the characters in many ways that they haven't been portrayed before. This is how they are in this particular universe, all for one reason or another. There's a plan for everything! 
> 
> And I do so love the reviews, btw. It makes me super happy every time I see one. :) I'm not the type to be all, "Send me reviews 'cause without them I won't write anymore *pout*" because my hit counter says enough by itself to keep me happy, lol, but they're definitely enjoyable to read. Thank you to everyone who took/continues to take the time to ask questions, give advice, and offer encouraging words!

"It's quiet," Josiah murmured, interrupting the previous silence of the desert with his voice and the sound of his footsteps crunching through the sand.

JD smirked just a little as he kept his gaze locked onto the remains of a house in the distance that sat on the outskirts of what had once been a little ranch town.

"Too quiet?" he asked, but otherwise remained still as the preacher took a seat beside him.

Josiah shook his head. "There was once a time when I used to say there was no such thing, that we should all relish in the gift of a quiet afternoon."

Toymaker broke his fixated trance and turned his head to the old man. "But?" he prompted, to which Josiah smiled.

"But," he continued, his smile turning a little more wicked, "as the good lady Rosalind asked, 'can one desire too much of a good thing?' Too much desire can lead to just plain too much."

"What are you talkin' about, preacher?" JD asked.

Josiah chuckled. "Orlando's manhood," he snickered, and laughed even more at the kid's look of mortification. "An old play on words, boy. Remind me to teach you some Shakespeare once things quiet down."

"But I thought you just said it was too quiet," JD spouted, dancing his eyebrows up at the return-fire remark that brought their conversation back to full circle.

Josiah nodded appreciatively and clapped his hand across the Toymaker's shoulders. "That I did...but I get the feeling it was a little bit of quiet you were out here seeking. Did I interrupt?"

The kid shrugged and turned his attention back to the ghost town for a little bit. When he spoke again his voice was soft, almost a whisper, and shadowed with sorrow. "You know how these people died?" he asked, but pushed on before the preacher could answer. "Zombies didn't get 'em, that's for sure."

Taking a closer look at the house, Josiah had to admit that he was a little impressed by the kid's observation. It was most likely true what he'd deducted; the virus had taken an awfully long time to reach the little pockets of society that fell outside of the major cities, and that was mostly because of the idiots who'd been fleeing for the hills with infected loved ones in tow. Little towns like the one they were looking at could've survived a long time without being plagued had mankind just been a little bit smarter...and a little less violent. This particular haven in the desert had fallen to bullets and flames, but it was anyone's guess who the culprits were. Could've been desperate thieves in search of supplies, could've been an organized group like the Pirates, or it could've been the work of normal folks who were just plain frightened and were burning witches at the stake.

A glance at JD's eyes revealed a dark memory, and Josiah couldn't help but wonder. "I don't mean to pry, but did something like this happen to your people?"

After a bit of a hesitation, the boy closed his eyes and shook his head. "Just a nice old couple I stayed with for a while after..." He shook his head again, this time shaking off some memory he clearly didn't want to relive. "I didn't know 'em very well, but they were good people, good enough to take in a total stranger. Looters got to 'em one day when I was out. I started building my weapons after that. I figured the least I could do was help other people defend themselves."

"Noble cause," Josiah stated, understanding a little more of the puzzle that was the Toymaker. "You ever find out who the looters were?"

"The old man collected antiques," JD muttered as his fingers trailed along the butt of one of his revolvers. "Some of them were pretty easy to track down. I got 'em back."

With that, the boy got to his feet and swiftly picked his way towards the farmhouse. Josiah let him, knowing there was nothing left in that empty shell of someone's life than that which only someone like JD might find useful. Even the best Scavengers would've overlooked some of the junk that Toymaker could transform into treasures.

"Treasures birthed by blood," he whispered to himself, and settled in to keep an eye on things from afar. He'd sit there until the boy returned, then they'd walk back to the rig together, back to their team, maybe back to what could become an odd sort of brotherhood if everything played out right. They could become JD's people; he just needed a little help understanding that, and Josiah was nothing if not the patient teacher. The young man would get there. All it would take was a little bit of time.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

"Shouldn't be out here," Chris pointed out as he located Vin sitting in the shade at Weena's rear. Despite that, he lowered himself to the ground beside the sniper and made himself as comfortable as possible considering he was leaning back against a metal box on wheels. It really wasn't one of the Toymaker's most visually striking inventions (not that he'd ever dare tell JD that), but it might possibly have been the most valuable of them all. The team wouldn't have been making such good time without it, and Chris didn't doubt that it had saved them from becoming just more casualties to their hellish environment.

Tanner cracked one eye open long enough to acknowledge the Ranger's presence before he relaxed again. "Ya got somethin' better for me to do, then say it; otherwise I'm fine restin' up right here. Spent too many hours in that box already."

"Can't argue with that," Chris admitted and tilted his head up to the sky. A few clouds dotted the horizon, the kind that might spell out rain if they were lucky enough. A storm would definitely provide them with some good cover for their impending raid on the Pirate camp, but Chris wasn't factoring that into the plan as something to depend on. Clouds came and went all too quickly through the desert, teasing mankind with a promise of water that would only wind up being delivered miles away in an area of the country where it wasn't so desperately needed. The night sky would provide plenty of cover as it was. The waiting was what was killing them.

"Think you should've let JD kill the rest of the Crew?" Vin asked quietly. "Captain and his men've probably been out recruiting reinforcements all day."

Chris shrugged. "I gave 'em a chance. If they're stupid enough to come after an armed tank a second time, their deaths are on them."

"Good," Vin smirked. "Just makin' sure we were on the same page."

A comfortable silence fell between the two men for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts and soaking in the cool breeze that was cutting through the intense heat of the afternoon sun. It wasn't too long before Tanner began to doze off, which was something that the SWAT man was in dire need of following the morning's chaos. The other reason Chris had wanted to wait until nightfall to infiltrate the camp was so that the boys could rest up a bit, recover from whatever adrenaline overload or hidden fears or physical wounds they had suffered from. In Vin's case, sleep was definitely what his body required the most to compensate for the blood loss, and if that meant sitting outside in a small patch of shade with rocks digging into their asses to get it, then Chris was bound to stick it out with him. He'd been in far worse situations with his unit, after all, and he was trained to always have his fellow soldiers' backs. That's what they were now, he realized - soldiers. It was a whole different kind of battle, but they were soldiers just the same.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Nathan sat on the floor just inside Weena's doorway, caught in an internal argument with himself over how best to approach the man who had chosen to rest on the ground several feet away with nothing but the slight shadow of a dirt bike and a ruined leather jacket to protect him from the desert sun. The coat had been draped over his face keeping his skin safe for the most part, his damaged arm tucked somewhere underneath and the elbow of his good arm slightly exposed as it jutted out from beneath his head, but that still wouldn't do any good against overheating and dehydration. Now that Nathan was thinking about it, when was the last time Ezra had even taken a drink? He honestly couldn't remember.

Sighing, he stood up and made his way to the storage room where Buck was busying himself with the weapons. He was taking great care with cleaning both his and Chris's guns, and Josiah had gladly left him thankless task of wiping the gore off of Metatron's razor wires. The Ranger didn't seem to mind.

"I like to keep my mind occupied before a fight," he'd said with a smile as he offered his services to anyone else who needed a cleaning. Both JD and Vin had declined, preferring to look after their firearms themselves. It wasn't out of mistrust, just a strong sort of overprotectiveness that every one of them could understand. A man's weapon was his life, after all.

"Hey, Buck," Nate greeted as he slipped passed him to where the water canisters were being stored. "You didn't happen to see if Ezra took any of this when he came for his jacket, did you?"

Buck shook his head without looking up from what he was doing. "He wouldn't have. He's with us, but he's not  _with_  us, ya know? Hasn't seemed to click in his thick head just yet that we're all going to be his house guests in a few days."

He shot the doc a crooked grin at that to which Nathan couldn't help but laugh a little. The thought of him staying at Rising with one of the corp's prior employees was ridiculous, and an ex-Pirate to boot. By the looks of it the man wasn't intending on becoming an overly sociable host, either, which would only serve to create tension over time. It seemed that now would be as good as ever if any olive branches were to be extended, and who better to offer it than a man from Higher Hopes?

Nathan took a canister and, as a secondary thought, grabbed a small pouch from his pack before leaving Buck to finish his work. He stopped in the rig's doorway for just long enough to take a determined breath, then purposely headed over to where Standish was most likely just pretending to sleep. When the Southerner didn't move at his approach, he sighed and knelt down next to him, pondering over whether or not it'd be a good idea to lift up a corner of the jacket.

"I brought you something for that shoulder," he settled on saying as a way of ridding the air of any potential unease.

For a moment Ezra didn't move, but then he sighed as if resigning himself to the fact that the good doctor wasn't simply going to go away. "I'm fine," he muttered. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

With a roll of his eyes, Nathan leaned forward and dug his fingers into Ezra's shoulder in  _just_  the right spot, the minuscule amount of pressure more than enough to trigger the nerves in the already sensitive joint. The doc had expected a reaction, yes, but what he got wasn't the flinch or gasp or curse that he was prepared for. Instead the man disappeared from under his hand in a flash, rolling away and coming up on one knee with the speed of a rattlesnake on the strike, only there were no fangs on this snake. Nathan found himself staring down the double-barrel of a black pocket pistol, the end of which so close to his eye that he could almost make out the shape of the rounds nestled deep within.

It had only been a second, just one second before the gun was pulled away and Standish was taking several steps back with a look on his face that was somewhere between apologetic and extremely irritated. Still, one second of having a Pirate pointing his gun at Nathan's head was more than a little unnerving. He'd been too trusting, a little too invasive a little too quickly, and he'd learned a lesson from it.

"I think maybe you should give this a try," he suggested cautiously as he set down the canister of water along with a small packet of white powder. "Just a pain killer, the same thing I gave to Vin. It'll take off that edge a little."

Standish arched an eyebrow at him and huffed out a laugh. "Perhaps you're right," he agreed, closing the distance between them again and kneeling down to accept the water and the concocted medication that the doc kept a ready supply of as much as JD kept up his supply of ammunition. Somewhere within those few actions that the Southerner made, the tiny pistol seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving Nathan wondering if he should've been impressed or feeling more uneasy about the Rising man. All it served to do was spin his mind around in circles in regards to this stranger's worth versus the risk of keeping him with the team.

"What was your job?" he found himself asking, despite the fact that he wasn't normally one to pry into other people's business.

Ezra's eyes flicked up at him briefly over the edge of the canister, the only sign on his part that he may have been put off at all by the intrusion into his privacy. He finished with the little bit of water he'd needed to take in to wash down the medicine and took a moment to spread out his discarded coat to give himself something to sit on. His face scrunched up in distaste as he did so, almost to the point where his expression bordered on pain.

"Leather of this quality is nearly impossible to come by," he explained. "Two months riding with Pirates and not so much as a crack. One day joining forces with you gentlemen and the garment is ruined beyond repair. My supplier will surely charge me double to replace it. Probably more."

"You have a supplier for red leather jackets?" the doc half-joked, half-questioned in honest curiosity.

Standish didn't appear to understand the joking part of it. "Amongst other things," he answered with a hint of disdain, then shook his head. "I believe you were inquiring about my employment with Rising, Dr. Jackson?"

Nathan ducked his head in a silent apology of having delved into what could've been construed as an interrogation, but he wouldn't take it back. Couldn't, now that the question was out there. For better or worse, he needed to know what Ezra's part was in the birth and spread of the destructive virus. If there was any possibility that he knew of something that might help to stop it, the doctor needed to be made aware of it. He needed to know for himself if this man could truly be an asset.

He opened his mouth to speak when Ezra held up a hand to stop him. "I understand your reasons all too well," he said, "but trust me when I say that I won't be of much use to your cause. I was advanced security detail, Dr. Jackson. It was my job to keep the people out of my building that were talented enough to break into yours. I succeeded where your people failed."

Nathan felt himself getting angry, not just by the obvious taunt that Standish had thrown in his direction or by the challenge in his eyes , but by the memory of the day when he found out that his life's work had been stolen from him. Their building was supposed to be secure, their particular wing on even heavier lockdown than the rest of the facility. They weren't creating bombs or biological weapons or attempting to clone human test subjects, though. They were on the verge of discovering a cure for HIV and nothing more. It was for this reason that it was said their security had gone a little lax, that the fault had fallen to them just as much as it had to the thieves who had worked their way through the system. Higher Hopes honestly didn't think that someone would be so malicious as to hinder the creation of such a necessary cure, but there would always be malice when it came to greed. Rising had wanted their vaccine and they had wanted it for more than its intended purpose. Someone from inside Higher Hopes had tipped their hat to the competition and this was the price the world had paid for it. The heroes of the story had not fortified their stronghold, and the villains had fortified theirs too well.

The doctor looked up and met the challenge in Ezra's eyes. "Security detail. That means you've got to know the building pretty damn well, right?"

"Inside and out," Standish nodded, and relaxed his posture seeing as how the good doctor was not about to take the bait he'd dangled in front of him. "And that was  _before_ it became my place of residence. I've made some...adjustments since the fall of Rising's evil empire. Not even Mercury, himself, could map it out now."

"So if there are things I need that might be inside, you could guide me to them?" Nathan continued, once again bristled by the other man's words, at the very mention of Mercury's name, and once again choosing to ignore the attempts to get his blood hot. Standish was still playing the game of Rising against Higher Hopes, only Nathan got the distinct feeling that his opponent was just testing him, seeing if he'd play back, gauging his ability to trust in him just as Nathan was doing through his more direct line of questioning. So far they seemed to be pretty satisfied with each other, and once again Ezra seemed to let go of that chain of tension that was in a constant state of raveling and unraveling around him.

"That depends," he replied thoughtfully. With a shrug of his shoulders Ezra took another small sip of his water, rationing it unconsciously as all people had learned to do if they wanted to survive in their world. "I can certainly make the attempt to play tour guide, but safe passage is not something I can guarantee. The virus was birthed in the halls of the Rising Corporation, Dr. Jackson. Just because it escaped doesn't mean that it ever truly left."

 _Of course_ , Nathan thought with a wince. Most of the building was probably still overrun by Diseased, even now after the years had drifted by. It was naïve to have ever thought otherwise.

"Would you be willing to try?" Nathan pressed despite the dangers that would be involved.

Ezra offered him up a hint of a smile. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

That he was, Nathan nodded, blowing out an amused snort at the rhetorical question. That he was.

_**~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~** _

Buck grinned slightly as he backed away from the screens embedded in the console. He'd been about to rush outside when Ezra had pulled that gun on the doc, but he'd barely had a chance to blink before the weapon was gone again.

 _Fast little shit,_  he had mused as he watched the two men settle into a conversation, and then turned his attention to the feed from the camera that was barely picking up on Josiah's form sitting in the sand. JD wasn't anywhere in sight, but Buck knew that the preacher would be watching over the kid. Everything had seemed calm on that front.

Chris and Vin couldn't be seen on video since they were tucked into one of the rig's blind spots, but he could see their little red blips staying put on the radar. He wondered briefly what the two men were talking about, if anything at all.

Shaking his head, Buck strolled back to the workshop and pulled out his pack, fully intent on whipping up something for the boys to eat. Chris had always said that Buck was a master at making feasts from almost nothing, a skill that had come in handy time and time again since the fall of civilization. Apparently not everyone could come up with a full family meal out of a bag of chips, a can of beans, some MRE's of varying freeze-dried delicacies, and whatever spices he managed to pick up along the way. That hadn't been a Ranger-taught skill, either, as had been proven time and time again by the failed attempts of his unit brothers whenever they tried to recreate one of his specialties. He blessed his angel of a mother every day for teaching him how to make the most of what the good Lord had given him, which hadn't often been a wide variety of food options when he'd been a kid. Buck Wilmington had learned how to fight in the Army, but he'd learned how to  _survive_ from his mother, the strongest woman he would ever have the pleasure of knowing.

Thoughts of his mother lead his mind back to Chris, the now stoic man who had once been a lively teen, a boy who had gotten Buck into more trouble than he occasionally thought it was worth. He'd probably spent at least half of his middle school career grounded to his room, and the only reason that high school hadn't been as bad was because Chris had wisened up and learned how to get them into mischief without being caught. Man, the stupid shit they would do, and yet Buck always followed along knowing without a doubt that if they ever got into any  _real_ trouble that Chris would be there to get them out of it. That's probably why his mom never told him to stop hanging out with the troublemaker. Chris looked out for him, had taken a punch or two in Buck's name back in school when the bullies would start their hassling, and he'd taken a bullet or two for him out in the field when the fighting got too hot.

A bullet or two. Buck snorted at the casualness of his own thoughts. It had actually been four spread over the course of several different artillery battles where they'd come under heavy fire. Four bullets had struck his best friend when they had been meant to strike Buck, three of which had been caught up in his vest and left nothing but bruises. The fourth had found flesh, but Buck remembered Chris laughing about it even as he was bleeding all over the dirt.

 _"About time one them finally hit something,"_ he'd said. Damn idiot was able to find a joke in just about anything back then.

He didn't joke much anymore, though, and the virus that had wiped out over half the human population hadn't had anything to do with it. His soul had been burned out not long before the two of them had been sent to counter their first wave of Diseased, and honestly Buck had almost been a little grateful for that. He hadn't known at the time that they were witnessing the fall of mankind, so all he had felt was relief that Chris had found something else to focus on. He was  _still_  focusing on it, had never stopped, and a guilty, selfish part of Buck's psyche almost hoped it never would. That man needed something to replenish the fire that leaked from a hole in his ever-bleeding heart, and God help him, Buck couldn't be that something on his own.

Maybe this mismatched band of strangers could be, though. Having a unit to lead again was already beginning to tear down Chris's titanium-thick walls. A little bit of his best friend was peeking through here and there after only a few days' time with these unknowing soldiers of his. Somewhere in there was the same boy who wanted nothing more than to have his own flock to follow him into mischief, supporters that trusted him and that he could trust in return. Hell, that was obvious the moment Buck realized that his friend had no intention of asking Vin or Ezra what'd happened in those few minutes they had disappeared during that fight with the Infected. Chris simply didn't work like that with his people, wasn't the type to demand complete subordination and to have every action and second of time accounted for. As long as they always had his back when he needed it, he'd have theirs, no questions asked. Beyond that every man was their own and free to go their own way...which not-so-coincidentally often happened to be the same way that Chris was headed in. He was the Pied Piper of broken souls, with none more broken than his own.

He'd heal, though. One day he would heal, and hopefully the rest of the world would be on its way to healing right along with him.


	11. ZP Pilot Ch.11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank mikiss for catching that lil' word mistake in the last chapter. Lol! I fixed it immediately. Gracias! :)
> 
> Also, so sorry about the long wait between updates! I was working super hard on the production project and now we're finally live! If you want to see what I've been doing all this time, you should check out [match.colaborator.com](http://match.colaborator.com). You can choose which episodes you'd like to see go to full series (there are seven pilots in total), there are several fun features available where you can interact with the characters, and the best part of all? We have a forum for each episode where you can post your own fanfiction, any of which has a chance to become canon in the future series. If we choose your work for that, you get paid and credited for it! Your fanfiction stories could actually come to life and be part of the story, which I think is pretty awesome. I've never seen another network that's not only willing to host and encourage fanfiction on their personal site, but may also use that fic for actual canon. Hopefully it's the start of a new era for us fanfic writers. :)
> 
> Anyway, enough with the promotionals. On to the story!
> 
> *be warned, JD feelz are about to ensue...

JD sat on the busted bedframe, his gaze transfixed on the small hole in the headboard, but his mind lost to the past. He had done his best to ignore the scars of fire on the grounds outside, had closed his eyes against the spattering of bullet holes that lined the outer wall and had traveled through to hit whatever targets that had lived within, but this one flaw in the otherwise beautiful oak bedframe could not be brushed aside.

He'd gone in for his treasures, to take as he pleased from the remnants of a life that was once precious as all good Scavengers did. His pack, now discarded beside him on the floor, was filling up with what to him would become a scrap of armor, a handle on a new gun, a spring to trigger a trap, a container to house a bomb, and any number of small pieces of brass, copper, and iron that the unimaginative looters had left behind as mere junk. His aim had been to strip the bedframe of its springs, as well, but then he'd seen that round, splintered imperfection in the wood and all thoughts of scavenging had vanished.

There'd been a hole just like that once, one that existed in an angelic canopy bed in his old townhouse back in New York, one that he had created with his own shaky hand and that had wound up staining the flowing white curtains in a ghastly red.

One shot. One single shot and he had simply walked away, stepped out his front door in a cloudy haze with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. It had been a miracle that he'd even made it out of the city in that state, that he'd stumbled upon that house in the middle of nowhere where Hank had literally picked him up off the dirt road and hauled him inside to be fussed over by Ruthie. It had taken nearly a month of patient kindness before he'd snapped out of his state of shock enough to even speak, and quite a few more before he was trusting enough to cry onto Ruthie's shoulder about what he'd done. He'd spent the rest of that evening throwing up as if his body wanted nothing more than to purge itself of his guilt and his grief, and he'd spent the next week fighting off a frighteningly high fever, the stress of having to feel his previously blocked emotions proving to be too much for him to physically handle.

He felt that familiar nauseating feeling in his stomach even now as he continued to stare at that hole, felt the pain of that moment when he had locked eyes with his mother in the market and had seen the fear in them, fear and sorrow and pity.

 _"Run, John,"_ she'd mouthed, but he hadn't listened, couldn't listen. He wouldn't leave her behind to be devoured by the Diseased that had found their way into the shop. Instead he'd gone back for her, grabbed her hand despite her screaming protests, dragged her back to the safety of their locked-down home with her cursing and crying all the while.

She'd been bitten.

_"You're gonna be fine, Mom. It's just a scratch. You'll see. We'll get it cleaned up and it'll heal faster than when I used to skin my knees falling off my bike. Don't worry about it, okay?"_

JD swallowed the burning lump that had grown in his throat, his eyes unable to pull themselves away from the memory of a bleeding hole that oozed down onto a white satin pillow cover.

_"My eyes, baby. They've changed, haven't they? I can feel it. I can feel it all over. Don't let me die like this, John. Please, don't let me be one of them. I don't want to become one of those things."_

She'd been crying. Sobbing, actually, her words broken apart by her desperate tears. Still, he couldn't do it, couldn't point that gun at her and pull the trigger. He wouldn't let her do it to herself, either, and had tied her to her own bed to keep her from hurting herself. She could get better, he'd convinced himself. She had to. She was all he had left.

_"John, please."_

Those had been her last words, her last whispered plea before everything that was his mother wilted away to be replaced by a nightmare driven by hunger. She - it - the thing that had once been his mother hissed and growled and snapped its jaws at him, its white eyes looking at him not as a son but as a slab of beef placed in front of a starving wolf. He'd stood stunned for several minutes, watching this zombified version of his mother do its very best to turn him into just another victim. She'd begged him not to let it happen and he hadn't listened, had been too selfish to let her go, selfish enough to let her soul rot inside that body instead of sending her off to the angels as a human being, as a loving mother that would've done anything for her child. He was so selfish. Why had he been so selfish?

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he remembered the moment when he shut down, when he turned on his heels and retrieved the gun from the dresser drawer, when he quietly held it up and aimed it above those teeth that would forever be gnashing after human flesh.

_"I'm sorry, Mom."_

"I'm so sorry, Mom," he cried, finally able to turn his face away from that hole in the oak headboard and bury it in his arms. One shot at point blank range. One lucky shot that severed just the right nerves to put the zombie down for good. He should've considered himself lucky that he hadn't needed to empty the magazine in her head, that he was able to leave his mother's form mostly intact as it slumped forward on the bed that would become her final resting place.

Whoever had shot the person in the bed he was now sitting on was lucky, too, apparently. Either that or they'd done the right thing from the start and had shot their loved one before the disease had turned them completely. That was more likely, and what he should've done back then had he not been such a terrible son. It was the merciful thing to do. It would've been the merciful thing to do for his mother. It would've kept him from depriving her of her final death wish.

Feeling anger take over the grief, he stood up and wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffling back the tears that he didn't deserve to cry. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room, his pace fast as he fled from the memories. On his way out he dug a round little egg out of the side pocket on his bag, a brass little thing with a jewelry box key jutting out of the top. He twisted the key sharply and pulled it out of its copper keyhole, pocketing it and chucking the egg behind him. He left another on the stairway, then another in the kitchen, and planted one more in the living room before finally leaving the house in a haze of hurt and bitterness. Another thirty quick paces and about ten seconds later, the whole building exploded behind him into so many pieces of wood and broken dreams, taking that memory of the bullet hole in the headboard right along with it.

"I was wrong," he snapped at Josiah as the preacher ran towards him, cutting off whatever it was that the man was going to say. "I don't know who came through and shot up the town, but the virus got here first. It got here f..."

He trailed off, waving his hand in the air to dismiss his own words as he kept right on walking, his only goal being to get the hell away from this morbid reminder of his past and his sins - far,  _far_ away.

~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~

All signs of a slow, peaceful afternoon vanished back at the tank, Vin hissing as he tried to jump to his feet too fast and Chris cursing as he held him in place; Buck dropping his spoon with a heavy  _splat_  into the pot just before he bolted out the door; Nate and Ezra glancing at one another in alarm before both sets of eyes turned to the horizon where a large cloud of smoke had followed the thunder of a violent explosion.

"Ez, your bike," Larabee demanded as he rounded the corner of the rig at a sprint, Vin limping slowly behind him.

Not that Standish had been given a chance to protest. The Ranger was on the vehicle and spinning it towards the commotion before the Pirate even had a chance to open his mouth.

"By all means," he mumbled as he waved away the dust cloud that the bike had left in its wake, then pointed his hand at Weena. "Should we go after our fearless leader?"

Buck turned his mouth down in a scowl. "Can't. The kid's the only one who knows how to start the damn thing."

"Then let's just hope he's still alive," Ezra deadpanned.

Without another word, Buck took to the path the bike had left in the sand with Nate stepping in beside him. They didn't ask Ezra to come, nor did he volunteer it, instead choosing to scoop up his tattered jacket and moving over to stand in the shade of the rig beside Tanner.

"Reckon the Pirates must've heard that, too," Vin said quietly.

Ezra tilted his head in a curt nod. "At least enough to warrant an investigation party. It might be in our best interest, since it would appear neither one of us are fit to run in our current conditions, to take up arms inside this monstrosity?"

"Can't argue with ya, there," Vin agreed with a touch of a smile on his lips. He led the way back inside the tank, all too happy to crawl back up into his crow's nest and to feel the weight of his rifle in his hands. If anyone came over the ridge that wasn't a friend, he'd be ready for them. He could only hope that "Mercury" would be ready at his back.

~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~

When Chris pulled up to see JD storming through the desert, Josiah hot on his heels, at first there was an odd wave of relief that washed over him. It was strange to feel that for someone who wasn't Buck, a man who'd been his best friend and partner on the battlefield for so many years, someone who had more than earned the right to be called a brother. To feel such relief over the wellbeing of men who were still mostly strangers to him...he wondered briefly where it came from. Maybe it was because there were so few good people left in the world that to lose a few more was always disarmingly tragic; or maybe it was because JD was so young and so full of fiery energy, reminding him a little of himself at that age, and maybe reminding him a little of his own son...

Chris shook away the thought and let a more familiar anger push the relief aside. The kid didn't look scared at all, and neither did the preacher. There was no sense of urgency in their stride, nothing that spoke of fleeing from some unknown danger, which could only mean one thing. One of them had created that explosion. One of them had just exposed their position to the Port that was hidden somewhere only a few miles away. One had them had just needlessly put the rest of them in danger.

"What the hell happened?" he barked as he rolled the bike to a stop in front of the Toymaker.

"Nothing," the kid spat out. "The place was contaminated. I took care of it."

Chris shot a look at the preacher who could only shrug back his own confusion along with a sort of apology.

"Boy doesn't want to talk," Josiah needlessly explained.

"He damn well better," Larabee practically snarled in JD's direction, "but we don't have time for that right now. Whole damn state probably knows we're here. We've gotta move."

"Why do ya think I'm hurryin'?" JD snapped back, and stepped around the dirtbike that was blocking his path.

Chris turned in his seat and watched him go a few paces before letting out a huff of air in sheer frustration. "Get on the bike, JD. Bet half the damn team's already on their way over here. It'll be faster to get you in the driver's seat and pick everybody up."

The kid walked a few more steps, then thankfully saw the intelligence in the Ranger's words. "Fine," he mumbled, "but I don't want to talk about it."

"I said later," Chris promised, and waited patiently for the Toymaker to hop on behind him before gunning the bike back towards the rig. He made sure to toss Buck and Nate a little wave on the way past them, a sign that all was well for the time being, and could only shake his head at their questioning looks. He would explain everything to them once they had relocated to somewhere more safe.

…Or, JD would explain everything to them, because the kid owed them that much. Larabee would see to that.

~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~

Stupid. He'd been a dumb, stupid, selfish kid, just like he'd been back then with his mom. Now they were all going to hate him for sure, and if they didn't, they were just as stupid as he was. Every damn Pirate and Scavenger and zombie that had any sense of hearing left would know they were out there. This was exactly why he didn't travel with anyone. All he ever wound up doing was getting everyone he cared about killed.

Already hurt and ashamed and angry at the world at large, the last thing he needed to see when he got back to his only reliable (and virtually indestructible) "friend" was a Pirate in the driver's seat tinkering with the console.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, hauling Ezra out of the chair and shoving him back against the wall. A second later and their positions were reversed, Standish's eyes dark as his fists clenched inside the Toymaker's vest, pinning the boy in place.

"Easy, easy!" Vin called out as he dropped down from the hatch above, mindful not to land on his bad leg. Chris jumped in at the same time and barely refrained from grabbing Ezra by the scruff of his shirt and tossing him out into the sand. It wasn't the time to be making matters worse.

"Get. Off," JD demanded, his tone far too cold for someone so young.

Undaunted, Standish glared back at the kid for several long seconds before Larabee cautiously stepped in with a quiet order of his own.

"Let him go, Ezra," he said, more of a request than an order, one that thankfully the Rising man complied with.

"I wasn't trying to steal it," he muttered angrily, more to JD than to anyone else, the two of them continuing to stare at one another at a dangerously close range.

It was laughter that finally broke the tension, Vin's laughter that carried with it a certain lightness that could've dissolved hard stone.

"Shit, kid, you think he'd be dumb enough to drive off with your tank with a SWAT sniper in the ceiling?" he pointed out.

The humor didn't spread. Instead, it did something else, sparked something in Ezra's eyes that only JD could see at their close range...something like the dark memory that had been sparked in  _him_ at the sight of that single bullet hole in the headboard.

"First rule of being a thief: leave no witnesses," the Pirate mumbled, casting his gaze down not to the floor, but somewhere in the past. He backed away and glanced up at Chris briefly, just enough to slip past him and back outside where the air wasn't quite as thick.

"Stay close," Larabee called after him. "We're picking up the boys and moving out."

Ezra merely waved over his shoulder and hopped back on the bike, buzzing it off and stopping it up on a nearby ridge where the camera feed couldn't see over the crest. He looked content to stay there, presumably keeping watch until the time came to hightail it out of the area.

"Sorry," JD whispered, cursing himself internally all over again. He wasn't the only one with ghosts in his closet, and he was doing a fantastic job at bringing out everyone else's.

Chris shook his head. "Save it. Get this started and get us out of here. Had enough fighting for one day."

The kid quietly did as told, all the emotion completely drained out of him. This was too much, the responsibility too much to bear. Once this was over and he'd dropped everyone off at Rising, he was done, back out on his own where he didn't have to think of anyone but himself. It was better that way. It had always been better that way. He was an idiot to think that this time could be any different.

He took one last look at Ezra up on the hill and sighed. Some people were just meant to be alone.


	12. ZP Pilot Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! I feel like I'm always apologizing for delays in updates. Juggling two jobs and making my own film kinda puts a damper on writing fanfic. Buuut, you all should be pleased to know that my particular film project is 100% dedicated to fanfic, so I figure a good way to promote it is by updating a bunch of my stories!
> 
> So, to do said little promo work, I started a company called FanFiction FanFilms (F4) that takes popular fanfics and adapts them to the screen. With the author's permission, of course. The first one I'm doing is my Losers fic called Wired, so any of my Losers fans, you might want to keep your eyes open for that. The films are all going on YouTube for free viewing, and we're doing fundraisers for every film not only to help cover costs of filming, but more so to raise money for charity. Wired's proceeds are going to Christopher's Haven, the children's cancer facility in Brooklyn that Chris Evans supports. If you'd like to donate please go to https://www.crowdrise.com/fanfictionfanfilmsfo/fundraiser/alexkruse.
> 
> I plan on doing lots more of these, too. If I can get the funding for it, I'd love to do some M7 stuff somewhere down the line. You know the boys, though. Always have to put on a grand show, so I'll wait until I'm better established to do them proper justice. ;)

"'We should make Denver by tomorrow night,'" Ezra groused, his voice pitched in a mocking tone that Chris chose to ignore for the time being. It wouldn't due to start an argument now, especially not with the agitated Southerner who had already chosen to keep himself on the outskirts of the group as it was. Though there were plenty of seats between the bench, the mattress, and the little table where he could've sat, Standish chose to distance himself from them, preferring the floor where he leaned his back against the door to the workroom. Maybe it was just so he was out of arm's reach, free to continue with his litany of complaints where the others couldn't easily grant him with a well-deserved swat upside the back of his head.

"If those putrid, vile, pathetic wastes of human flesh damage my bike in any way-" he began anew, realizing he hadn't gotten any sort of rise out of his last comment.

"-It's a bike, Ez," Buck huffed. "What would the Infected want with a motorcycle? Not like they got enough brains left in 'em to ride it out of here."

"Besides," Vin continued, "you just got the damn thing, and I don't think the Captain meant for you to keep it. Doesn't exactly make it yours enough to treat it like some sentimental gift."

With a snort, the Pirate waved the comment away as nonsense. "The previous owner is dead, and as the last person that despicable Captain trusted the bike to, the ownership has now been passed along to me. It  _is_  a gift, a Pirate's most genuine method of sharing."

He smirked wickedly as the others rolled their eyes, but the grin quickly faded as the scrabbling hands of the Undead again tried to explore the mystery that was Weena. It was unnerving, but JD assured them that the Infected would not be able to breach the exterior, and if the seveon of them stayed still and quiet enough, in time the walking corpses would forget they were even there. The kid hadn't said much beyond that aside from offering a few mumbled apologies to everyone, and they chose not to push him for the time being. Explanations could wait until they were all out of danger, which was definitely not when they'd purposely chosen to park their vehicle in the middle of a Diseased-infested cityscape.

The decision had been made quickly following the explosion as Ezra barrelled his way back to rig, warning them of Pirates coming from several different directions. Knowing they still had some miles to cover before reaching Denver, and wanting to save what ammo they could for their upcoming raid on the Beast Masters Port, they opted to flee instead of fight this time. The only problem was, there was nowhere to flee  _to_  out in the middle of the desert. They're only option was to head to a place where the Pirates wouldn't dare tread, and that was up in Pueblo, a city long since abandoned to the nightmare hordes. They hitched Ezra's bike up to the back with a clever little lift that JD put together in all of fifteen seconds, then plowed their way through the Diseased, only stopping once they felt like they were deep enough into the city where the Pirates wouldn't think to follow. They'd been sitting there, mostly in silence, for the past two hours as they waited for the Infected to trickle away a few at a time once they'd lost interest in the moving box. If they couldn't eat it, it wasn't valuable to them, simple as that.

"Can we please depart from this detestable place now?" Ezra asked, turning his focus on Larabee. "Pirates are not exactly known for their patience nor their thoroughness. They probably gave up their hunt for any intruders in their territory within the first hour of searching."

Chris turned his attention towards the somber Toymaker. "What do you think, JD? We clear of enough of these things to take off?"

After a long moment of staring at the blips on his screen, the kid finally shrugged one shoulder. "Still a lot of 'em close by. They'll come right back at us again if I start her up now, and I can't exactly gun it with all the crap in the streets. If there gets to be too many of 'em, it'll be too hard for even Weena to push against 'em without blowing too much ammunition."

Larabee nodded, satisfied with the answer, and turned apologetically towards the rest of the men, all of whom seemed as eager as Ezra to hightail it out of there. "Sorry, boys, sounds too risky. Give it another half hour, then you make the call, JD."

JD looked at Chris, a bit of shock on his face as if startled by the notion of being left in charge of the situation. It was clear he didn't think they'd trust him after the little bomb incident, yet there was Larabee, giving him full reign over their wellbeing. With a shake of his head as if to rid himself of the emotions playing on his young face, he gave the Ranger a firm nod.  _Leave it to me, I won't screw up this time._

"...You know..." Ezra speculated after several quiet minutes had passed, once again being the one to break the silence. The boys had learned within the first twenty minutes of being in Pueblo that their resident Pirate was apparently uncomfortable with the concept of group quiet time. Either that or he just liked to hear the sound of his own voice. It could've gone either way with him. "...if it would help free us in a more timely manner, I  _could_ go retrieve the bike and-"

His words were cut off as Buck grabbed a spoon and threw it at the Rising man. Hard. Ezra batted it off its intended trajectory with a little yelp and a dark look shot in Wilmington's direction. Josiah chuckled at the antics while Nathan merely shook his head, a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

"Don't be stupid," Buck scolded. "You wouldn't make it two feet if you stepped outside that door, and opening that hatch even a hair would be like sending an invitation to those things. Like a big neon sign sayin' 'Dinner's on, fellas! Come and get it!' Go get the bike, my ass. What kind of idiot plan is that?"

Ezra opened his mouth to say something that was probably going to be rather heated based on how red his face was becoming, but whatever it was, he held it back at the last second with a snap of his jaw. Turning his gaze away, he settled on mumbling, "At least I was  _trying_  to think of something," and left it at that. Another second later he was on his feet and slipping into the back room, complaining that it was too stifling in there with so many people crammed into the small space...even though none of the others exactly viewed it as uncomfortably small.

"I think you embarrassed him," Josiah pointed out.

Buck merely shrugged innocently. "Stopped him from trying to do anything stupid like getting him and all the rest of us killed, didn't it?"

JD swiveled in his seat and did nearly exactly what Ezra had done only moments before, looking like he was about to say something, and quickly changing his mind as if afraid to voice his opinion on the matter. He glanced quickly to Chris, wordlessly asking the man's permission, which Larabee granted with a slight nod. Still, the boy hesitated to speak, clearly warring with himself over whether or not what was on his mind was worth saying.

"Go ahead, son," Josiah prompted. "We won't bite. The ones that do are all outside."

He threw the Toymaker a little wink, which seemed to put the kid at ease enough to talk.

"I was just thinkin' that Ezra's idea may not be so stupid, after all."

Chris held up a hand to halt whatever it was that Buck was about to say, and nodded at the kid to continue.

"Um...okay," JD stalled again, then sucked in a breath to spit out the rest of his idea with more confidence. "I was just gonna say that we probably have to get movin' sooner than later if we want to hit that Port when we're supposed to, and we could be waiting here for a lot longer if someone doesn't create a distraction. If I blow the torch out the front, it should give Ezra and maybe a couple of you others enough time to get out and up onto Weena's roof before the zombies swarm at us again. Then you guys could cover him while he climbs down to unhitch the bike. He just has to slide the bolt out. Shouldn't take him longer than a second or two. As soon as he takes off, I blow the torch again so the folks coverin' him can get back in here, and he draws the horde away. They're more likely to follow him, seein' as how he'll make the easier target."

Vin exchanged a look with Chris. "It ain't a bad plan," he stated, but Larabee shook his head.

"It ain't a bad plan to get to the bike, but I don't like the idea of Standish being so exposed after he takes off. He'd be on his own out there, and the streets aren't what they used to be. He gets caught at a dead end, it'll  _be_  a dead end for him."

"And if that's the case," Nathan piped up, "we might as well kiss this whole damn mission goodbye. I need him alive. For all we know, he may be the only Rising employee left, and that makes the man pretty damn valuable. Now that we know he seems to be on our side, ya'll should be protecting him like you do me."

With some hesitation in his tone, Tanner inquired softly, "And if it turns out he's not on our side?"

Nathan frowned casually, almost dismissively. "We do what it takes. The more he tells us and the more I think about it, the more I realize how much we need him.  _I_  need him. Whether anyone likes it or not, the key to this vaccine might rest in that man's slick hands."

At the back of the rig, Ezra slipped away from the crack in the door, no longer wanting to hear what it was that the others had to say on the matter. He had flown through so many emotions over the course of the short conversation that he could hardly untangle them all. There was the initial excitement about JD's plan and Vin's reply, then the disappointment at Chris having shot it down, to feeling oddly touched that the man in black seemed to be genuinely concerned for his wellbeing, which quickly turned sour as he realized that they all may only have cared about him because he was useful, then there was the heart-stopping moment when he feared Vin would give away his detestable alias as Mercury, followed by anger that they'd force his cooperation if need be, and finally by a sense of peer shock to be thought of as a potential savior of the entire human race. That thought was what was currently rattling him the most above all others.

Him? Ezra Standish? A man who had played a part in the demise of the known world could possibly be one of the people to set it right again? No, there was no way he could be that important. It wasn't like he knew anything about the virus, or chemistry or biology as a whole. The moment he would finish acting as guide to Dr. Jackson to get him where he needed to go within Rising, his role as a savior would be over. He wouldn't be remembered as a hero, not by any means.

Still...if this one act could set the world back on its proper axis, even if all he could do would be to play guide, he supposed it might help lift the guilt just a little. It was so heavy on his chest that at times he found it difficult to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, this little adventure would give him that small fraction of freedom he'd need to at least draw in the fresh air again.

"Careful, Ezra," he muttered to himself. "Hope can be a very dangerous obstacle to overcome."

He reached for his battered jacket and pulled a deck of cards out from the inside zipper pocket, then cleared a small space for himself on the workbench. If doing things like riding a stolen ( _gifted_ ) bike through a horde of Diseased was no longer in the cards for him, maybe he would find out what was.

~ZP~M7~ZP~M7~ZP~M7~ZP~

Utter confusion was the next emotion Ezra felt as a rumbling voice coaxed him back into the waking world. He sat up, groggy and sore, and blinked his eyes at a widely grinning preacher.

"Something funny?" he asked, his accent thick with sleep. When Josiah merely pointed at his cheek, Ezra reached up to find that one of his cards was currently plastered to his skin, and the rest of his game of solitaire was in complete ruin beneath his arms that now rested on the bench. "Ace of Spades," he mused as he peeled the offending bit of cardstock off his face.

"If I'd known you had those," Josiah commented, "I might've come back to join you sooner. Been a long time since I played. I miss a good game, miss taking a sort of gamble that won't cost me my life."

"I would wager there is plenty a man who would argue that a gamble at the card table can be just as deadly as the foes we currently face outside this rig," the Pirate argued. "Of course,  _finding_ such a man in our current environs may prove to be a bit difficult."

Josiah chuckled at that. "No truer words, brother, no truer words."

It was then that Ezra finally realized they were actually moving, but he kept his relief in check. Not that he wasn't capable of sitting stone still when the need required, but having to do so among strangers who didn't know him nor fully trust him was unnerving. He'd always had a tendency to fair much better on his own, and the one time he'd found himself on a team he thought he could finally trust with his very life, they had taken the faith he'd placed in them and shredded it into a thousand tiny pieces. Probably more.

"So we are finally headed out of this wretched city?" he questioned, sounding almost bored as he stifled a yawn.

"Been out of the city for almost an hour now," the preacher corrected, much to Ezra's alarm. It wasn't like him to sleep so heavily, especially with his unguarded back to a door that led to potential hostiles.

Josiah laughed again. "You look like someone just convinced you that vampires were real."

"That I would almost believe, considering," Standish returned gruffly. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Waited out the storm in Pueblo for a little over two hours." Josiah didn't laugh this time as the dismayed look deepened on the Rising man's face. Instead, he gave Standish a friendly pat on the arm. "Shouldn't feel bad about catching some rest when you need it. Been a hectic couple of days. No one would think twice about it if you wanted to come out and sleep on the bed some. Can't imagine sleeping on that chair is doing you any favors."

Ezra unconsciously rolled back his sore shoulder and winced at the slight kink in his neck. "No, thank you, Mr. Sanchez. If we've been traveling for an hour, that means we should only have one more to go even at a snail's pace to reach the Port. I should probably be alert so I can properly help guide us to a safe position from which we can scout the area. The Pirates will no doubt be edgy and irritable after their previous failure to apprehend our vehicle. They will be expecting an attack."

Now it was Josiah's turn to be alarmed. "From us? Why?"

Standish quickly waived away the primary concern. "From other Pirates. They can be as cannibalistic as the Diseased at times. Any sign of weakness in a Port is an invitation for rival crews to claim more territory and resources. That is why I was suggesting we make haste in our departure from the city, so that we wouldn't run the risk of having to fight off not only the remaining Beast Masters, but the surrounding territory's crews, as well."

"Might've been useful information not to hold back on," the preacher stated with some slight irritation in his tone.

Ezra glared at him for a second. "I might have been more inclined to share if certain someones would have refrained from passing judgment on my level of intelligence before I had a chance to fully voice my concerns."

"Buck," Josiah grumbled, closing his eyes for a mere second before clapping Ezra on his good shoulder. "Let's go, son. We need to talk to Chris, start putting some protocols in place in case we get caught in one of these turf wars."

"But we may not need to. We haven't even formulated a plan as to how we're aiming to invade the Port and rescue the hostages. We know nothing until we get closer, as I have never set actually set foot in this particular Beast Masters safehaven. As I said before, the last I'd heard, they had established themselves in Reno territory before moving this way. I don't have enough information to go on that would be helpful to even begin setting up protoc-"

Without letting him finish, Josiah pushed open the door and called for Larabee. Buck, too, and anyone else who was available to listen, informing them that they may have a problem. Ezra stood up, doing his best in the now even-smaller space he found himself in to dissuade their concerns. It wasn't that he wasn't one for making plans, he just didn't like jumping to conclusions before all the details were known, or expending extra effort worrying over events that may never come to pass. He tended to have more success when he planned little and improvised a lot, and with his fellow Pirates, the only thing that would probably keep them all alive was some improvisation. There was nothing that a Pirate did better than creating chaos, after all...


End file.
